


I'll Unfold Before You

by sofarfetched



Series: I'll Unfold Before You [1]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-01-24 20:02:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1615310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofarfetched/pseuds/sofarfetched
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misty x Cordelia teenagers!AU. When the shy, bookish teacher's pet, Cordelia Goode, gets paired with the charismatic, popular Misty Day for a baby-rearing project, things unfold in a way that neither girl could predict.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Sara Bareilles' "I Choose You". Re-sharing here, from Tumblr, because this is easier to update without including links every freaking time. I'll still be uploading on to my Tumblr, though. 
> 
> Trigger warning for self harm, due to depression.
> 
> I could use a beta :)

Oh,  _fuck._ Of all people you had to end up with her. Misty Day, the enigmatic, charming, gorgeous girl that has been the center of gossip for years, ever since she moved here. Yes, it was just so typical for you to end up paired with the most popular girl in school for this stupid child rearing project for Child Growth and Development. The more you thought about having to raise a fake baby with her, having to write a critical analysis paper on childhood cognitive development with her, having to do a presentation with her, the more you felt something akin to an outbreak of hives itching beneath your skin. 

The words, “Can I work by myself?” burst from between your lips without you really processing anything more than the fact that you cannot  _possibly_  live through doing a project with the girl who has intimidated you for years. The entire room turns to stare at you with disbelief in their eyes, her two groupies, Madison and Zoe frowning with mild disgust at your response. 

Ms. Snow chuckles before clucking lightly, “No, Miss. Goode. This is a partnered project, and since you and Miss. Day were both absent on Friday, you’re being paired together. The next and final assignment you complete for the class will be a solo project, however, and I hope that will appease you.”

"Yes, of course. Sorry, Ms. Snow. I’m just more used to working alone… I’m sorry." you can’t fight the blush off your cheeks at this point and the curly haired blonde across the room from you is trying to do the same, avoiding your lingering gaze as she stared down at her desk — for once, surprisingly quiet. 

"Yes, of course, dear. I know you are, and you do wonderful work! And, now I know you’ll continue to do so, just beside Miss. Day. It’s just one project, anyways, and you two will breeze through it, I’m sure." 

Misty looks over at you with a tentative smile on her lips, like she’s the one who should be nervous. I mean, sure, you’ve made the Principal’s Honor Roll every year and you have the highest GPA in the grade, but she’s still top ten, maybe even top five, not that you’ve been keeping track or anything. (She’s ranked third in the grade, for the record.) 

When you linger in the classroom at the end of the class, hoping to talk to Ms. Snow for a few minutes before the lunch break, she stays behind as well, instead of exiting the room with a trail of at least ten people on her tail. She weaves her way through the desks to sit in the one beside you. 

"Hiya."

"Hello." you start nervously at her close proximity, wondering what on earth she could want from you yet since the project doesn’t start for another few days. "Uh, I’m Cordelia by the way."

"I know who you are, silly. We’ve been in classes together since I moved here sophomore year."

"Oh… I just. I didn’t think you would know me, I guess." People don’t ever really know you, even though you sit at the front of every class you’re in. Perhaps that’s why, they just always see the back of your head and so you go unnoticed or unremembered. When people do remember you, it’s not with the greatest context, normally under the monikers of "teacher’s pet" or "suck up". You’re used to it by now, even though it secretly hurts you. They don’t understand why you crave approval so desperately, but your teachers have been the only parental figures you’ve ever had and you need affection from somewhere. 

"Why would I not know you?" her brow furrows, and you hate yourself for the word ‘adorable’ coming to your mind.  _Get a grip, Goode_. As if anything could be more mortifying than developing a crush on one of the popular kids at school, it would be developing a crush on one of the most popular  _girls_  at school. Yeah, that’d fly over really well. “You’re the most intelligent girl in this school, easy, and I’m not talkin’ grades or any of that shit. And you have the cutest dresses, they’re always so classy and smart. I’d say you’re one of the prettiest girls in school, too.”

Yup, you really did not need that today because now you’re speechless and definitely staring at her with a dumb gaping fish face, startled and not sure what to do with yourself other than to keep staring. At first Misty looks a bit nervous again, like maybe she’s said something wrong before she realizes that the flush you can feel creeping up your neck is more related to pleasure than embarrassment. This leads to you becoming more embarrassed and redder and you still can’t shut your goddamn mouth, though the open gaped mouth has softened to a breathless part of your lips. “Hey, you okay, Cordelia?”

You find that you really might not be okay because the way she says your name in that accent of hers is really just not okay and you sit and try to find your brain which you’ve clearly lost at this point.

"I-I… yeah, I’m okay. I just. I’m nobody, really. No one ever notices me. I figured especially someone like you."

"What does that mean?" she asks, though she doesn’t seem offended, just genuinely curious. And she’s leaning closer to you now, and you can smell the heady scent of violet and patchouli that seems to linger everywhere she goes. It disturbs you slightly that you know what she fucking  _smells like_ , for fuck’s sake, but then again, the school talks about her more regularly than the damn weather. And you realize that, again, you’ve spaced out considering the girl in front of you and she’s lifting her brow at you, patiently but bemused. 

"You’re just, you’re so popular? And everyone knows who you are and they love you and I’m just, like, this nobody. I just go to school and go to work or volunteer and I have, like, no life, so I-I — yeah. I don’t know." You continue to feel like you’ve dashed her ‘most intelligent girl in school’ belief the more you stumble over your words. 

"I’ve seen you down at the animal shelter before. You always sit in that corner with a book and one of the cats in your lap, you’re quite the picture. Very Carole King, ya know? Though, I’m more of a Fleetwood Mac girl, myself. But Carole is great, too." she adds with a laugh and winks at you, and you’re just not sure what to make of the words coming out of her mouth. 

"You’ve seen me…?"

"Oops, that probably sounded creepy, huh? My mom works there, Penny? Penelope Day?" 

"Oh, of course! I don’t know why I didn’t —"

"Probably ‘cause we look nothing alike. I’m adopted, y’know. My real parents didn’t want me, I was evidence of their sin or some shit. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. Wow, what the fuck, why am I telling you everything about my life?! You don’t care about that. So, when do we wanna figure out a schedule or somethin’ for this project?"

You could’ve let the comments slide, you could’ve ignored it, but no. Misty Day interests you and you find you want to know more, anything about her, really. 

"I care."

"I — what?" 

"I don’t know… I care? I mean, I like hearing about you. Not the you that people talk about in school, you know? Like, the real you. I’m sorry, is that weird? That’s weird." You figure it’s best to stop while you’re ahead, or whatever, though you’re pretty sure any other person would be slowly backing out of the room by this point. Instead, she shuffles her desk and chair even closer, this confused look in her eyes but her smile is perhaps the warmest you’ve ever seen it. Or maybe this is what her smile looks like when it’s directed at you. You think, maybe this is how she makes everyone feel. You think of the description of Gatsby’s smile, all full of imagination and hope and belief in others. Her smile makes you feel important, for once, and the idea crosses your mind that maybe affection from someone your own age is something you crave, too. 

"No, not weird. You’re so lovely, Cordelia. I wish we had talked sooner."

"Well, now we get to spend the next two and a half weeks straight together, so you might get sick of me by then." 

"I kinda doubt that." she says, still with that smile on her face, the corner of her lip quirked up like some sly secret between the two of you. You finally find yourself smiling back. 


	2. Chapter 2

You hadn’t been expecting her so soon. In fact, you hadn’t been expecting Misty to come over to your house for days. It’s literally been about six hours since you saw her last, in the classroom before lunch and your class schedules diverged from there on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. 

You hear Fiona downstairs, talking to her and rush to clean yourself up and get your life back in order so that Misty doesn’t have to deal with your mother for another second. Already, you can tell, your mother is inebriated. It’s only six in the fucking evening and you could scream. Then again, you remind yourself, if she hadn’t been so drunk when you came home, maybe she wouldn’t have screamed and screamed at you, maybe she wouldn’t have knocked you off of the high you’d been feeling all day and dragged you back down to your normal state of feeling worthless and hating yourself. Maybe, if she hadn’t grabbed you and shaken you like a ragdoll, reminding you that you would never be good enough for anybody, you wouldn’t be in your bathroom upstairs, leaving crimson stains on the porcelain. 

You shake yourself out of your reverie, reminding yourself that this is more than a daily occurrence as you slip your shiny blades back into the glasses case you keep “hidden” in your top drawer and wipe roughly at the marks criss-crossing your inner forearm and the sides of your thighs. Pain, embarrassment, and something you can’t quite place mix inside of you as the sting from your fresh wounds combine into a hurt searing enough to make you cringe. No matter how often you bleed, you never seem to feel quite enough. Misty has been the first person to make you feel something other than sadness, anger, anxiety, or apathy since you were twelve. A quiet, bitter laugh escapes your lips as you tug your black shirt sleeves down and lower the skirt of your dress. You try to brush the tears and mascara from your eyes and hope you are at some semblance of normal. 

"… and, anyway, I don’t know why you’re here,  _Delia_  never works well with other people, anyway and you seem like a girl who’s got a lot of friends, so why are you here of all places?” You’re continuously almost impressed by how your mother doesn’t do more than slur her words, even when she’s this pissed. Even from several feet away, you can smell the reek of too many gulps of whiskey. 

"Um, I just wanted to see Cordelia and talk to her about our project, ma’am."

"Hi, Misty. Mother, you can go now." You look coldly at her, hoping Fiona will get the message and go back to brooding in her room with her booze, or maybe, if you’re lucky, she’ll go out and hunt down one of the many wealthy men she sleeps with and she won’t be back until tomorrow night. 

"Oh, a project! That explains why you’d be here for her. You don’t have a choice! Go figure." Your mother laughs, scoffing lightly at you. You fight the wetness collecting at your eyes again and don’t look at Misty’s face at all. But you can see from your averted gaze that her hands are clenched tightly in fists at her sides, ever so slightly raised up and away from her body. Her stance makes her look like she’s going to  _fight_  Fiona or something insane like that and you glance up in surprise at her face. 

Meanwhile, your mother has already stalked off, leaving you both without acknowledgement other than a roll of her eyes. Misty’s face is contorted with a simmering rage, the potential of explosion glimmering in her eyes. You’re even more surprised when you notice the barely there shine of tears collected against the rim of her lower lashes. You feel your heart clench a little as you grab her wrist and draw her quickly out from the doorway and up the stairs, slamming the front door with a kick from your heel. 

When you get to your room, Misty pulls away from your grasp roughly, slamming the door behind both of you with a sharp exclamation of, “What the hell was that, Delia?”

You both stop for a second, the tension of the moment weakening slightly when you both realize what just came out of her mouth. 

"What did you just call me?"

"Cordelia. Sorry, it just slipped out, I don’t… sorry?"

"I-I, it’s okay. It’s just… nobody’s called me that since I was a little girl."

"Your moth-"

"Except for when my mother is mocking me, of course."

"Oh."

"Yeah." 

"What the fuck is wrong with her?"

"Pardon?"

"I would say I’m sorry, but I’m really fuckin’ not. What is wrong with her? I’ve known you for half a fucking day and I already know that there’s no reason on this earth that anyone should be treatin’ you like that, there’s no way you’ve ever done somethin’ bad enough for that sort of shit behavior." Her accent comes out even stronger when she’s angry and it makes you smile a little bit.  _Two smiles in one day, Cordelia? Impressive_. Misty notices your tiny smile and her features soften immediately, though she looks confused again. Maybe this is what your entire relationship will be like. She will inexplicably make you feel less shitty and won’t even understand why, and you’d never tell her, anyways. “What is it?”

"Nothing, you’re just… it’s sweet that you care so much. I don’t know why you do, but, it’s sweet. You’re sweet." This makes her giggle a little bit, and more tension eases from her frame, though you can see that it isn’t gone for good, she’s simply putting it in storage because now it’s just the two of you and her anger doesn’t matter much in this moment. 

"Am I sweet, though?" Misty laughs again, her cheeks flushing, which, in turn, makes you blush, again.

"I — anyways, why did you come over? We don’t start our assignment until Saturday."

"I dunno, I just thought maybe it’d be a good idea to get to know the mother of my future child and all that." You roll your eyes good-naturedly and move from your easy getaway position at the door to settle carefully on the edge of your bed, making sure that your dress is tucked firmly beneath you. Patting the duvet beside you, Misty barely hesitates before she shucks her boots off and plops down next to you, cross-legged on the covers. "Plus, I really liked talking to you today."

She needs to stop opening her mouth and saying things that make you like her. Seriously.

"I liked talking to you today, too, Misty." with that, she grins. She turns to her bag beside her, a massive bag you suddenly realize, and pulls out a huge cardboard box that she places on your bed, another smaller box, and then a concerning amount of vinyl follow, which she rests carefully on top of the box.

"Alright, Delia, this is what makes or breaks us." you feel your heart thump a little faster with apprehension and you can’t tell if she’s joking or not but she keeps using your nickname so things are probably fine. Right? 

"What’s that?" Your voice shakes a little and you could smack yourself in the face, to be honest.  _Ah, very cool and collected, Cordelia. Good job_. 

"Please, for the love of God, tell me you’ve got good speakers somewhere in here." That was not what you were expecting, but you slide off the bed and move a hefty pair of black speakers out from the corner. 

"I don’t use them much but…" 

"No!! They’re perfect. I’ve got the same ones at home; they’re great for listening to my music." she beams before scanning around the room for an outlet. Misty takes her things from off the bed, situates herself on the floor, and begins to pull her gadgets from the boxes, including a freaking turntable, hooking up all sorts of wires and you really just haven’t a clue as to what in the hell she’s doing right now. When she finishes, she glances behind her at you and has the same toothy grin on her face, biting her lip happily.  _So cute,_ you think, before you shush the voice in your head. “Today, when I mentioned Carole and Fleetwood Mac, you looked a lil bit bewildered. I figured, you probably don’t know much about ‘em or you just don’t listen to them at all, and if you don’t you should.”

"I mean, I know of Carole King and some of her songs. A little bit about Fleetwood Mac, too… but not a lot. Isn’t — don’t they have a singer, uh, Stevie Nicks? Is that right?" The girl in front of you brightens ten fold, as if that’s even possible. 

"Yes!! Oh, Stevie wrote songs like ‘Rhiannon’ and ‘Landslide’ in Fleetwood Mac’s heyday. When she was doin’ her solo stuff, she came out with stuff like ‘Edge of Seventeen’ and ‘Belladonna’. Any of that sound familiar?"

"Familiar, yes."

"Good. Stevie Nicks is my hero." she laughs with a brilliant smile on her face, fanning out the records she brought with her. You recognize some of the covers, but especially the one with a very tall man and a petite woman with her leg draped over his, her arms behind her, gauzy fabric trailing behind her, looking like she could take flight at any moment. Misty notices you staring at this ethereal woman and points to the figure, "That’s Stevie. In her ‘Rhiannon’ persona."

"She looks stunning." you offer shyly, a bit intimidated to cross onto a territory that Misty clearly knows so well. A strange thought hits you, "Didn’t people think she was a witch or something, back in the day?"

The curly haired blonde in front of you scrunches up her nose in response and you’re afraid you’ve upset her. 

"Yeah, people were kinda crazy at the time, just cause she liked to wear a lot of black and she was just like this… spectral body from another world. People assume that someone with a deep spiritual connection to other people and the world around them have somethin’ wrong with ‘em." Misty speaks the way someone does from experience and it makes you want to sit down next to her on the floor. So you do. 

"Some people are too blind to connect to the people around them. Or to see how beautiful the world we live in can be." You remember how when you were younger, before any of this sometimes impenetrable darkness seeped into every fibre of who you are, you used to sit in the fields amongst wildflowers. Making "potions" all day and weaving flower crowns that you donned until your mother would pluck the drying petals from your hair. When you think of those days… you realize how much you miss who you once were. Getting to know Misty feels like maybe you have a chance to be that girl again, but then you hate yourself again for putting so much responsibility on someone you’ve technically just ‘met’. 

Her bright, stormy eyes search for your gaze until you finally realize she’s concerned and trying to get your attention. You offer her a timid smile and Misty smiles back, rubbing your arm gently before pulling away at the the gesture of familiarity. You’re slowly coming to the realization that she treats you like a deer with an injured leg and you’re not sure how to tell her that you’re already broken, so she doesn’t have to handle you with such care. There’s no way Misty Day could hurt you more, she seems only capable of healing. 

"Anyway, I was hoping to play you some of their songs, both Fleetwood Mac’s and Stevie’s solo stuff. Only if you want, of course, I was just teasin’ about before, I won’t mind if you don’t like them or anything." her raspy voice comes out with more hesitation than you’ve ever heard before. "Most kids our age don’t really like or care about older music, so…" As she continues to pause between her words, you recognize this as another one of those things that Misty doesn’t share with other people. And you’re secretly thrilled that she’s sharing them with you. You, of all people.

"No, Misty, I’d love to listen with you. After all, like you said, I need to get to know the mother of my child." she looks up at you with happy, slightly incredulous look on her face and you find yourself winking at her playfully. 

Just then, you hear the door downstairs slam unceremoniously as Fiona leaves for the night. A couple of seconds later your phone buzzes.  _I’m going out for the night. Will be back tomorrow… maybe Friday… Don’t fuck anything up._

With your mother’s departure, you allow Misty to blast Stevie’s solo stuff over your speakers. The rollicking 80’s beat of ‘Edge of Seventeen’ makes her pull you up to dance with her, though you mostly just sway about and let her do her thing. You watch her with a smile as she twirls around your room, belting along to the lyrics, the tassels and lace on her black dress swirling about her pale, long legs as she spins and spins and spins. 

When she puts on Fleetwood Mac, you’re feeling much more comfortable with her and she puts on song after song that make you want to dance. And she pokes you in the stomach and shows you how she likes to dance and it just feels totally natural to be dancing through your bedroom together playing music that was made at least ten years before either of you were born or from even earlier. 

Finally, after many an upbeat song, you drift over to your bed and crawl on top of the covers before flopping onto your back. You realize a bit slowly that the hem of your dress has shifted up quite a bit and you tug it down self-consciously, hoping that she doesn’t notice. When Misty moves, she goes to her record player, about to turn her music off. 

"You don’t have to, you know."

"Don’t have to what?"

"Turn the music off… or leave. If you don’t want to, I mean." she halts her movement, holding one of the records tightly in her hands. Misty smiles and nods, putting a different LP on and moving the needle to a well-memorized location along the grooves. The slow, quiet strains of Stevie’s voice float above your heads, her voice wrapping around you like a silky shawl. Misty steps towards the bed and you mimic your motion from earlier in the night, patting the spot next to you. This time, she walks over to you and perches lightly beside you. 

"I found this awesome record in some record show ages ago. It has some of my favorite versions of songs and in an order that I really like. It’s not a marketed copy, probably the only record that’s got this collection of songs on it. It’s pretty sweet and it’s the most chill collection of their songs." You nod, closing your eyes and focusing on the music. Misty shifts beside you, moving to lean back against the headboard, you think, and when you crack your eyes open she’s looking down carefully at you with a look that you think might be fondness in her eyes. 

_Every hour of fear I spend, my body tries to cry. Living through each empty night, a deadly calm inside…_

You can hear that your breathing has synchronized with hers and the old clock downstairs signals you with a chime that means midnight. 

 _But never have I been a blue calm sea, I have always been a storm_ …

As the song finishes and shifts to the next, Misty shimmies down to lay on her side, facing you. You can only tell because she’s still singing quietly along and her warm voice strikes a chord in your chest that makes you feel more at peace that you have in a long time. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

When your phone alarm blares to life with that ever-familiar 80’s rock beat, you groan with the acknowledgement of another school day coming up. You’d rather just continue to lay in bed and maybe stare listlessly at the wall. It’s really too bad you know you’re too type-A to actually do so, and you think, snidely, that perhaps you’ll just have a breakdown in the bathroom later on…  _one of many_ , you internally chuckle. 

As you turn on your side to switch off the music, you hear the incoherent mumbling of a voice next to you and flip back over to see Misty still half-asleep and curled up on the other side of your bed. 

"Shit."

"I-is that… ‘Edge of Seventeen’?" she sounds more than confused, and when she opens her eyes she becomes obviously disoriented, not recognizing where she is at all. "This isn’t my room." 

Finally she looks up at you, and you know you must look like a deer in headlights and very disheveled. And you make a little frustrated noise in the back of your throat because Misty still looks totally fucking perfect, and  _of course she would_ because it’s her, with her smudgy black eyeliner and long lashes and pink lips and… you really have to pull yourself together because it’s been all of one day, way too much time together, and you’re already a mess. 

"Hello." you try, nervously but with a smile. 

"Oh, Cordelia, hi. I-I… what? Oh! Yeah, no, no, I remember now…" she blinks sleepily and considers the situation. "What happened to ‘don’t they have a singer, uh, Stevie Nicks?’ And now you’ve got her as your alarm tone?" she’s teasing with genuine curiosity but you feel the heat in your face rise alarmingly quickly.

"Well, honestly, I, uh, oh my god. No, Misty, don’t make me, I can’t, it’s so embarrassing."

"Aw, c’mon. Please? I won’t laugh, I promise." 

"No, it’s just, no." The blonde across from you pouts openly and with her still sleep hazed puppy eyes, she’s really too cute to resist. "Ugh, okay, you really can’t laugh or, or judge me over this, okay?"

"Promise." she grabs your pinky finger with hers and shakes your hands together firmly. 

"Okay, well, sophomore year, when you moved here, well, you know you became popular like right away, okay? And, I was curious about you because you just sort of became this name everybody around school knew, like, within a day or something. Anyways, I kind of, uh, overheard you talking to someone about going to one of Stevie’s concerts and how you got to meet her and you seemed so excited… Like I said, I was curious about you, and so I looked up some of her stuff and listened to some of Fleetwood Mac’s stuff. It’s all made so much more sense with you listening with me — I don’t think it resonated as much with me then, but, I just remember really liking the beat of that song and it wakes me up and okay we need to get ready to go to school okay we’re done with that story." with that, you turn and burrow your head into the pillows on your bed, not ready or willing to face her. 

"Delia…" her hand reaches out to brush across your shoulder before sliding down to rest on your forearm, and you peek from beneath the curtain of your hair and the shelter of your pillows to make eye contact with her. The look on her face melts away your embarrassment immediately because she looks so damn pleased. "That’s so cute and, and so nice, all of it. I-I, y’know that was the first and last time I talked about Stevie or Fleetwood Mac or any of that? ‘Cause the people you heard me talking with just didn’t  _get it_ , y’know? It was early enough on then, I guess, that I was still just the quirky, ‘interesting’ new girl… I was really embarrassed at the time, for lovin’ something that a lot of people our age don’t even know about or want to know about. They didn’t understand why I love Stevie so much. I guess, a lot of kids our age don’t know anything about being passionate and connected in that way…” she trails off, her hand still resting on your arm. “Anyway, I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is that I’m glad you like the song and I’m really happy you listened to so much music with me last night. Nobody’s ever done that for me before.” 

The underlying subtext of ‘nobody has ever cared that much’ and ‘nobody actually wants to understand’ resonate with you and you find yourself leaning in to her touch hesitantly. 

"I was happy to do it, Misty. I had a lot of fun, and all of the music was so beautiful. I think you might’ve gotten me a little bit hooked. I can hear the songs rattling in my head and I think they’ll be stuck there for days." you crack a smile and she laughs.

"Their music tends to do that."

"We really should get ready for school."

"What time is it?"

"Uh… shit. 7:40. We have to go in like five minutes if we want to make it without a late slip."

"I’m not gonna have time to walk home and change… do you, uh, do you think I can borrow some clothes for today?" The image of her in your clothes makes you blush, but instead of dwelling on those thoughts you nod your head fervently.

"Sure, my closet is over here." you lead her to the small, walk-in room and flick the light on. "You can take whatever." she moves further into the room, running her fingertips along the fabrics lining the walls. As she looks around, you grab a couple of items before slipping from the closet. 

When you leave her, you head towards the adjacent bathroom and strip off your dress from the shoulders down. The black fabric slides easily off your narrow shoulders but the sleeves cling to your skin and you tug a bit too roughly to get it off your body. Small droplets of dark red bead along your skin again and you brush at it with your fingers, the colour smearing against the scarring skin. Rolling your eyes at yourself, you stand at the sink in your underwear and try to wash some of the caked blood off your wrists and arms. You remember, almost as an after thought that you should clean your legs off, too, and you start to run a washcloth under warm water when you hear Misty’s voice approaching the wooden door at a pace too rapid for you to stop. 

"Delia? Where’s the bath-" she’s twisting the knob open and is in the room before you can even respond. You can’t move, you can’t even turn off the fucking sink or hide yourself from her or anything. Instead, you just stand there, dumbstruck, and she kind of does the same. 

Except her eyes scan your body and your skin prickles with awareness and the unfamiliarity of someone actually having to see you like this. You never, ever thought this day would come and you’re suddenly more violently ashamed of the white lines marking major expanses of your skin with inflamed red scarring covering over those. 

Finally, you react, slamming the tap shut and grabbing the towel from off the rack, wrapping it tightly around your shoulders. 

"Misty, what the fuck?" you wanted it to sound angry, upset, anything but what it does come out sounding like, which is absolutely terrified. You scare yourself at how your voice shakes. 

"I-I’m so, so sorry, Delia. I didn’t, I was just lookin’ for, oh god. Oh my god. Are you? Shit. I’m sorry." she’s still staring even though there’s nothing to see now. Even as she apologizes, she can’t seem to pull herself away from you, instead almost leaning forward. As much as you want her to leave, to leave you alone, maybe forever because it can’t get any worse than this, her knowing you’re absolutely fucking pathetic, you can’t open your mouth to tell her to get the hell out. When she finally registers her staring, she apologizes again, and with eyes still wide, turns and closes the door behind her. 

You don’t hear her move away. Instead, you hear her slump against the door. It’s like your limbs are moving in slow motion and you sink down to the cream tiled floor. As your brain tries to process what’s just happened, you replay the look on her face over and over again. The face she had made wasn’t disgust or even pity, just surprise and, you think, maybe probably definitely concern. You don’t want her concern. You didn’t want her to know or anybody to know. Nobody knew and now she knows. You can’t help but think to yourself that she doesn’t deserve to be forced to even  _associate_  with someone like you. 

It’s that thought that triggers a flood of tears that blocks your vision and you curl up against the wall and sob quietly. You hate that you let her see this side of you, this stupid, broken, weak side of you that you shove away every day to try and make something of yourself at school, no matter how worthless it all seems anyways. You can hear when she hears you, the fabric rustling against the door and her feet shifting beneath her.

"Cordelia?"

"Please… don’t. Just don’t." you eek the words out, hoping the words don’t sound too strained even though she already knows you’re crying. She stops moving outside the door but still doesn’t withdraw from her position, almost like she’s guarding you. 

With that, you stand and wipe resolutely at your eyes. Moving quickly, you wipe the blood from your skin, wincing at the roughness of the cloth against the raw wounds. You splash cold water on your face before masking the puffiness under your eyes and the redness of your skin with a quick appliqué of makeup that gives you some semblance of normalcy. You open the door cautiously and Misty jumps to her feet outside.

"Hey."

"Hey. We gotta go. So much for not being late…" she shrugs nervously as she eyes your red-rimmed eyes. 

Tugging on one of her curls and feather extensions, she shrugs again. “It’s no biggie. Let’s just go now.”

You’re grateful she doesn’t try to push her questions on you, at least, not yet. Briefly, your mind notices the skirt and blouse that Misty pulled from your closet. A long, black maxi skirt on you is a shorter, ankle-brushing skirt on her, where the skirt sat on your hips, it fits more around her narrow waist with her taller stature. The blouse is a loose, short sleeved green top that you haven’t worn for years. She wears it tucked into the skirt and it all looks very put together. You laugh silently to yourself; she’s every opposite in comparison to you. Her calm wildness, her composure, all contrasting sharply to your withdrawn (and you’ve been told, uptight) attitude and the way you feel blown to pieces all the time. 

Gesturing downstairs, you snag your car keys from their hook above your desk and grab your backpack from off the floor.

"Do you think, would you mind if I left my music and stuff here? I’ll take it back with me after school, if that’s okay?"

"Yeah, that’s fine, don’t worry about it." the mundane nature of your conversation soothes the ache in your chest a little bit as you make your way down the stairs and into your car.

Sliding into the seat, Misty slips in beside you on the passenger side. You drive to school in silence, with your eyes glued to the road and steadily ignoring the fact that Misty’s eyes haven’t left you for a second. 

When you pull into the parking lot, on the far, far end since you’ve already missed first period, she finally breaks the silence. 

"Cordelia," she starts and you cringe, closing your eyes tightly as if that will make her stop talking. "Are we really not gonna talk about what happened?"

"We’re very late, we need to get to class."

"I don’t care about class, Cordelia, I want to talk to you."

"I can’t have many more lates or tardies or anything or my grade is gonna start dropping. I’ve already missed more than what I’m supposed to, but the school gives me some leeway because I do well, so —"

"Delia, I don’t care about fucking grades!" you turn sharply, surprised at her violent outburst. The look on her face is desperate and upset, like she’s the one on the verge of tears now.

"Misty, I really, really don’t want to talk about this. Not right now, not with you, not ever. Please, please don’t make me talk about this." you say the words harshly, like you haven’t felt some warm, special connection running like an electrical current between the two of you. And you can see, your words have their intended effect. Misty draws away from you, turning to look out the window for a moment before making eye contact with you again. The look in her eyes is resolute.

"I don’t believe you. But I’m not gonna push you. I just want you to know that I’ll be there, when you’re ready to talk. I know you think that I wouldn’t understand and I know we only really just started talking, but… I’ll be here for you." she turns back to the door, pulling the handle open. You want to say ‘thank you’ because she shouldn’t even bother to care but the words die on your lips and you just stare after her mutely. As she spins on her heel to close the door, Misty lowers her body back towards you in the car. "Y’know how I said Stevie is my hero? I meant it. She saved my life."

And with that, she shut the door and walked slowly off towards the school. 


	4. Chapter 4

The school day has passed you by like ocean currents — you’ve been aware of the shifting tension and emotion inside of you, but you’ve preferred to keep it all held inside. This has, until now, worked fairly successfully with your avoidance tactics. You avoided Misty on three separate occasions in the hallways, and she only caught you once. She had looked hurt but unsurprised, hadn’t tried to fight for your attention; you were and are grateful for that. But now your wild blonde problem is leaning lightly against your locker and you’re not even sure how she found out this was your locker in the first place. 

"Hi, Cordelia."

"Hi." you try the word nervously, your mouth unused to speaking from being silent all day after your outburst at the girl this morning. 

"So… I was wondering maybe I could hitch a ride with you and pick up my records? Then I’ll walk my stuff home after that."

"Okay, that sounds fine." you could choke on how stiff you’re being with one another, like you didn’t listen to the music of her soul all last night, like Misty Day didn’t fall asleep laying side-by-side with you in your bed less than twelve hours before. 

"Great… thanks." she tries on a smile, a genuine smile, for you, and you quietly try to will your lips to curve. They don’t. You sigh to yourself, wrapping your arms tightly around your body and sever eye contact with her, nodding slightly. 

When you get in the car, Misty slides into the seat next to you so comfortably, like she’s already accustomed to being a part of your life. You have no idea what to do with someone like her and you’re not sure you ever will know.

"Hey, Delia?"  _Nicknames again… interesting_.

"Yes?"

"Do ya mind?" Misty is holding up a CD in a red jewel case and you internally marvel at the fact that she has Stevie’s music in so many different forms. You’ve seen her with a cassette player walking around school before; her records are disheveled all across your room, and soon her CD playing in your car. Misty smiles lightly at you and you slowly realize that you must’ve cracked a smile at her in your curious amusement. "So, that’s okay then?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah. It’s fine." 

You recognize the tune as ‘Kind of Woman’ from last night, but the beat is slower and the only instrument you hear is a piano. Misty sings quietly along beside you, no longer staring this car ride around. Another two piano only songs drift by before you’re back within the boundaries of your neighborhood and she’s staring at you again. 

Out of nowhere: “When I was eight, I kinda tried to kill myself.” 

You choke a little, your foot crashing down into the brake pedal just as you pull into your driveway.

"Pardon?"

"Remember how I said that I was told that my parents didn’t want me because I was evidence of their sin?"

“‘Or some shit.’”

"Yeah, well, I was told, literally told on a regular basis about how much they didn’t want me, how much they hated me. My birth mother used to chase me around the fuckin’ shack with a pan clutched in her hands, screamin’ she’d beat the sin outta me… sometimes, I guess she did."

"Misty…"

"I ain’t done, Delia." she says, firmly, her memories drawing her accent out and her emotions making her voice tight. "I-I, I s’pose one night I decided I had enough. I couldn’t even make my own damn parents happy, so there must’ve been something wrong with me. Something inherently wrong that just wouldn’t go away. I tried  _everything_  and I was never, never enough. I thought… I thought what would be enough was two solid gashes to each of my wrists. I was, uh, lucky, that I was eight and still somewhere deep, deep down had some desire to live. I think it was my babysitter who found me? I don’t really remember much about that time after… kind of a haze, y’know? Psych eval and they deemed my parents unfit and then I went into foster care and I got lucky that my foster parents wanted to adopt me.” She  _finally_ takes a breath and you don’t know what to do or say, so you just sit there and you meet her wide, glassy blue gaze. Misty’s vision holds steady and she’s breathing deeply like she wants to say more and so you just wait. Because mostly, you want to take her into your arms and hold her or maybe you want her to do that for you; and isn’t that exactly what she’s trying to do by telling you all of this anyways? 

"That was around the time I found Stevie. Penny… my mom, took me into work with her and ‘Bella Donna’ came on the radio and she cranked it up, loud, and said somethin’ like, ‘I haven’t heard this song in ages!’ and I listened to Stevie’s voice and her words. At first, all I could get out of her music was enjoying her words, but listenin’ to Stevie, that was how I rediscovered beauty, not just in her music, but in the world around me again. This amazing, miraculous life that I had totally forgotten about. I’d let that part of me rot away, but with Stevie’s help, I could feel the resurgence of my soul, y’know?"

Misty shifts in her seat, her hopeful gaze prodding and searching for that click of understanding she wants from you. You almost feel it, almost. Somewhere in a haze that you, too, have let yourself forget in, you understand what she wants you to realize. 

You still understand beauty, you can still recognize it, though it is truly a rare occurrence nowadays. If it happens, it strikes you and strikes you hard. You stare at this amazing girl beside you, looking back at you with a strength, vulnerability, and optimism that you don’t fully comprehend. And you can’t help but feel that perhaps you could also rediscover beauty, for you continue to find yourself thinking you already have,  _in her._


	5. Chapter 5

It’s been about four days since this project began and a few hours ago you snapped so badly at Misty that she left your place and went back to her own home. You bang your head against the wall a few times before you stop, pressing your forehead against the wall in your brief moment of peace because this stupid fake baby has finally stopped crying. On a regular basis, you’re trying not to slip behind on schoolwork. Topping it all off with volunteering, work, and this horrid project, and you haven’t had a moment to yourself. You find yourself thinking along the lines of ‘thank god I’m not attracted to some stupid boy and that I haven’t gotten myself knocked up at this point in my life, because this fucking  _sucks_.’ 

This thought stops your racing mind for a second because now you’ve started thinking about being  _with_  someone enough and  _loving_  someone enough that you’d want to have children with them. The thought is actually absurd to you. However, it makes you start to think about the girl you’re currently “raising” a child with, again.

Misty. Fucking Misty is… is irresponsible, doesn’t know how to manage her time, sleeps like a freaking rock through a baby crying (I mean, really, how?). You could almost laugh because the moment your brain tries to get frustrated with her, it also reminds you that she has comforted you more than once when you’ve cried from stress, has rocked your baby and cooed like it was real, and realistically speaking, she has taken care of this baby every time you’ve gone to work and volunteered. You remind yourself that you upset her so much she left. The gorgeous, sunny girl you’ve gotten to know so well in the last week had looked dismayed, gutted even, when she stared back at you from the doorway and all you had done was turned your back as she closed the door.

  _I can be the biggest asshole sometimes, fuck._

You try to call her, more than once (read: six times) times, and she’s clearly ignoring your call. The distance between you currently is the most you’ve been apart for days; she’d even been sleeping at your house so that you could alternate between who would wake up (even though you normally were the only one to wake up, it was her idea and that was what counted, right?). You disappointed yourself because your brain has already gotten comfortable and happy with the idea of having Misty Day in your every day life. She just  _fits_  like she belongs right by your side. Making you laugh, singing Stevie like the lyrics are the air she breathes. And, sometimes, she gives you this look and you don’t know what it means, all you know is it makes you feel warmth spilling like a hot drink on a cold day through your body. 

You feel like shit now.

And immediately grab your sleeping fake baby and situate it in the front seat of your car as you drive to her home. When you get there, you carry the baby to the door and ring the doorbell. 

Her mother answers. Normally, she’s full of smiles when she sees you at the shelter and especially in the last week, but right now, she looks pissed, so, so pissed. You feel even worse.

She eyes you carefully and lifts a brow, crossing her arms in front of her. “Can I help you?”

 _Shit_. “Hi, Mrs. Day… Is Misty home?”

"No." You both know she’s lying, but you’re not sure what to do now.

"Oh, okay, um, well, could you tell her something for me?"

"My daughter came home in tears, Cordelia. What did you say to her?"

"I didn’t mean to, I swear, god, I’m so sorry, I just was stressed out and overwhelmed and I —"

"Mama, it’s okay. I can take care of myself." Misty is standing on the stairs, looking radiant as ever, aside from her slightly puffy eyes and the visible tear streaks across both her cheeks. Your heart constricts more violently than you thought possible at the sight and you want to grab her and hold her and beg for her forgiveness. 

Penelope Day stares at you, uncertainly, you can tell she wants to stay, wants to know how and why sweet, quiet Cordelia Goode has made her precious, resilient daughter cry. Instead, she relents, and slips by Misty, squeezing her arm gently before heading back towards the kitchen. 

"Misty…"

"Delia," she says your nickname and you immediately know she’s already forgiven you. Even though she shouldn’t. Even though you were horrible to the only person who has been nice to you in years. "look, don’t even worry about it, I shouldn’t have asked you why you had to volunteer instead of taking care of this stupid baby. I know going to the shelter makes you feel better when you’re stressed and you deserve that amount of comfort. I’m sorry, I-I know I’m not the best with bein’ on time and I forget about when to do things, and I sleep like a dead gator… but I’m tryin’, I just thought you knew that."

"I do know that. Please don’t apologize, I’m the one who was wrong." you look down at your feet, feeling ashamed and disappointed in yourself. "I was being unfair, making you take care of the baby when I’m at work and when I need to decompress a little. You’ve really been so good about it all; I’m just trying to work through my shit, too, and I took it all out on you. I’m so, so sorry. I hate that I made you cry…" 

You feel her fingers tilt your chin up and her eyes meet yours and she’s smiling a little, the brightness back in her eyes. 

"Look at that, we worked through our first fight as parents. This oughta go in the journal." she giggles a little, still holding your face before she notices and drops her hand. You blush and smile easily in return. "Put down the damn baby and let me hug you so we can both just move on." These words make you freeze a little bit — you can’t even think of the last time you’ve been touched affectionately, in any way. When was the last time your mother hugged you? Or any friend to speak of? "Hey, you gonna put the baby down?" Misty teases gently, nervously now. "Or, I mean, we don’t have to hug, of course, if you don’t wanna…" 

The number of times you’ve thought about her arms around you is legitimately embarrassing to you and you try to brush the thought from your mind. 

"I…" 

"It’s okay, Delia, really, we don’t have to hug." she’s flustered now, her right hand reaching up to scratch at the crown of her head. 

"I, no, I—" you place the baby on the carpet just inside the doorway ( _it’s a fake baby, who cares_ , you remind yourself patiently) and stand a bit awkwardly.

She hesitates briefly, before shifting closer to you. Her arms wrap a bit awkwardly around your shoulders, tense, but when Misty tugs you closer, it only feels natural to slip your arms around her narrow waist and draw your fingertips in patterns across the back of her intricate blouse. Your movements make her relax and she presses her cheek against your hair and your face ends up nuzzled between her neck and shoulder. 

When she speaks, her breath ruffles the hairs on the top of your head, “Is it weird if I say I missed you during the last, like, five hours? I think I got attached to you too quick.” Her words are a playful drawl, but the sentiment is there and it’s real. 

You merely cling to her tighter, it feels comfortable to be exactly where you are. You don’t want to think that you fit together just right, because that’s ridiculous and you can’t be  _that_  attached yet. Misty makes absolutely no move to let go of you, so you stand pressed together, without saying a word.

"… I missed you, too." 

The admission is a lot for you to admit to yourself, much less to her. If anything, it makes her hold you closer to her. You try to remind yourself to not care so damn much. 


	6. Chapter 6

You're pretty sure you weren't supposed to be a witness to the conflict that unfolds before you. Misty stands cornered against her locker, Zoe, Madison, and a few other girls you recognize only as Misty's followers, crowding around her. 

"Misty, where have you  _been_ , like, the last week?" Zoe asks, irritation lacing her voice. 

"Yeah, seriously, Misty. You've barely responded to any of our texts and I'm kind of fed up. Are you abandoning us? And for what? For  _Cordelia Goode_ , of all people?" the next voice, a sneer, belongs to none other than Madison Montgomery. The entitled C-list diva has inexplicably hated your guts for years.

"She's a priss."

"And a suck-up."

"Teacher's pet."

As you continue to listen, you wonder how Misty came to be friends with these girls. And you stand, hidden quietly in the shadows, trying to tell yourself that their words aren't impacting you. 

Misty comes tentatively to your defense, her resolve strengthening as the words slip past her lips, "Hey, guys, watch it. Don't talk about her like that." 

"What? She's not the only pet around here, I guess. I've seen the way you've been staring at her, you look like a fucking lost puppy and you need to get your shit together, Misty."

"Madison, back  _off_." Misty growls the words out, and you can see the tension in her shoulders tightening. 

"No, you need to back off her!" Madison softens, slightly, before reaching her hand out for Misty's, which the taller girl doesn't fight off. "I know you've got that stupid project with her, but just... she isn't worth your time, Misty. And, plus, we have more important things to focus on. Did you forget that prom is coming up? And I've heard that Peter wants to ask you to go with him. Misty, we just miss having you around. You just kind of ditched us for the straight-laced bitch..." 

The honey-blonde's drivel drones on, but you've had enough of the verbal abuse, even if it wasn't spoken directly at you. Heat fires violently in your cheeks because you can't help but  _agree_ with Madison's words. Why  _has_ Misty been spending so much time with you, anyways? It's not like you need to be together 24/7, because you could just be splitting the care for this baby bullshit. But Misty had insisted on staying with you, saying that she had felt she could help out better this way. 

And so, that's how the last week and a half has been. After that first night, it hasn't been nearly as bizarre as you thought it might have been to have Misty sleeping next to you in your bed for the last ten nights. Albeit, you have a humongous bed, and she sleeps her fair distance away, but... it has been nice not feeling so alone all the time. She's only gone back home to have meals with her parents and to collect clothing or shower. You realize just how much time the two of you have spent together. 

It only makes you feel more bitter as the nasty words from the girls behind you reverberate in your eardrums. It's the disdain with which they speak about you that cuts so deep, it would almost be better if they legitimately hated you. But, no, they just think you're so below them. You feel the same.

It's the end of the school day and you send Misty a text saying that you're not feeling well and hope she doesn't mind taking the bus to your place. Her response is immediate.

_Sure, no problem, Delia. Feel better. I'll see you later tonight. x_

Your foot is heavy on the pedal as you speed back home before slamming every door in the house until you reach your bedroom, lights off, curtains drawn, and you plant your face firmly into your pillow before your tears began to soak the fabric. 

You let her get too close, too fast.

When Misty comes back, you're going to tell her that she can't stay at your house for the duration of this project. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, lovely readers. Sorry I am -the worst- and haven't been updating. I just finished studying abroad and I've been readjusting to life abroad, missing friends, and being jetlagged out of my mind. I hope you enjoy the update. I missed writing for you and I hope to be much more active from now on :)

It's a few hours later when you hear the click of your spare key turning in the front door. You hear Misty's boots shuffling along the hardwood floor alongside the thud of the plastic carrier touching the ground. The plastic scrapes across the floor, and she must be picking it back up again. She coos quietly to your baby before calling out to you.

"Delia? You home?" her voice is soft and sweet and weary. You have to will yourself to move from the position you've been lying in since you got home. Her footsteps approach your bedroom and you use your palms to push off the bed so you can face her and just get this nasty business over with and send her on her way. Her knuckles rap against the wood of your door and before you're fully up, she's inside the room. "Delia I... hey, are you okay? What's wrong? What happened?"

Immediately, you know you must look pretty shit. Misty stands in the doorframe with the baby wrapped up in her arms and pressed to her chest as if it were the real deal and the crib dangling off the crook of her elbow. The sight of her concern lined face and the maternal elements of her posture make your heart thump and you almost want to swallow down your decision to tell her to move out and stay at her own place. It's not like she officially moved in to begin with.

"I think it'd be best, Misty, if you went back to your own house for the rest of this project. Of course, we'll still be splitting all the care and we can work together at the library to finish the paper and presentation. But... yeah."

"I... where is this coming from, Cordelia? Did I do somethin' wrong?"

You don't know what to say here and so you bite down sharply upon your tongue. What can you say, after all? I heard you when I accidentally eavesdropped today and your friends hate me, so you must feel the same? What are you even doing here in the first place? Every thought sounds harsh and bitter inside your head but you can't help but think them anyways. Even about sweet, loving Misty; you just don't know what to make of her. This is the most popular girl in your school, the girl who's probably going to prom with the most popular boy in school. Every boy, for that matter, is pining after her. She has the epitome of a high school clique surrounding her. So, really, what the  _fuck_ is she doing with you? What does she even want? 

The questions shatter like breaking glass, pounding the inside of your skull, making your ringing headache from crying that much worse. 

The excuse comes pathetically from your lips. "I just think it'd be best. I don't think our current set-up is, uh, appropriate."

"I don't understand, I just --"

"Misty, I need space! Okay? I need you to leave!" she looks startled when you yell your final words out. You feel the same way, the aggression in your voice surprising you, as well. 

It is in this moment that you realize how jealous you are of the people in Misty's life. The gorgeous, popular girls who are her friends. Girls who are nothing like you. The handsome, athletic boys who will undoubtedly get her attention. All these people you will never be. You realize you're insanely jealous and you want to have her all to yourself and this is terrifying and you cannot help but think that now you really need to push her away. You can't be jealous when you never would have had her in the first place. She's too good for you and she knows it. You're not even sure what exactly you mean by all of that, all you know is you need Misty to get out of your room, immediately.

As you come to this conclusion, Misty has shifted slightly towards you, the baby no longer in her arms, plastic carrier on the ground by the door. While at first she had looked hurt, now she honestly just looks kind of pissed. A small part of you whispers about how attractive she looks with anger and frustration fueling the fires in her eyes. A much larger part of you finally mentally clicks and you have no choice but to accept the fact that, despite telling yourself repeatedly not to do so, you've gone and developed a massive crush on Misty Day.  _Well, fuck._  

What you were not expecting was for her to get up in your face, crowding your personal space in a way she never had before. 

"Cordelia, I wouldn't mind as much if I actually believed you wanted space from me. But I don't believe you! We were doing great, why are you lashin' out at me now? It's been weeks, Delia! Don't try to act like these two weeks haven't happened, because I can't just erase this time and neither can you. I know we connected, Cordelia. Don't push me away. I deserve better than this, don't I?! Please, I'm sorry for whatever I did, but just don't do this without telling me what I did because that's just not fair and you  _know_ it isn't." by the end of her rant, she's more plaintive than angry and she's still so, so close to you that you don't know what to do. Except panic, a lot, and lash out more as you move away from her and back yourself essentially into the corner of your room.

"You want to know what you did? Do you really? You pitied me, Misty. You saw I was... I was broken, or fucked up, or whatever you saw in me, and you pitied me. But I don't fucking need your pity, okay? I heard you with your friends, your  _real_ friends, the people you've spent the last two years with? You know? Not just the last two weeks with. They were right. Why are you even bothering? I'm doing this because I'm not worth it, and you're wasting your goddamn time. So just get out and go back to hanging out with your friends. You can go back to them now, okay, and talk about prom and boys and all that good shit. I'm not gonna off myself, I swear, I'll be fine. So just go."

Laughter spills from her lips, bitter disbelief staining the sound as she shakes her head at you. 

"God, how can you be so fuckin' blind?" 

You feel your brows furrow in confusion before all of a sudden she's right in front of you again and her body is pressing yours against the bedroom wall, her lips insisting at yours roughly. This is definitely not what you were expecting and you almost can't react you're so fucking surprised. But then she bites harshly at your lower lip and the spark of pain spurs you into a response, kissing her back, hard, with your hands reaching out to grab at her hips. One of her hands finds its way into your hair, her other hand and her forearm pressed to the wall alongside your head. There isn't even air between you anymore. It's as though your lips and your tongue have a mind of their own because you've certainly never kissed anybody before, but your tongue darts out to run across her lower lip and she's trembling with an emotion you can't place, and then your tongue meets hers and she lets out a noise that is utterly _unholy_ before she tears herself away from you. 

Misty's eyes are wide as they meet yours and she realizes what she's done. The look on her face tells you that this was not something she had been planning either, that she's surprised herself, that her body acted almost upon its own will. 

And with that, she turns away from you quickly, dashing out of your room then the house without saying a word. 

You're still trying to catch your breath. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a trigger warning this chapter.

She doesn't call you and you don't call her. But you do lie flat on your back in bed, staring at the ceiling, with your phone unlocked and on her contact info beside you on the bed. Where she'd been sleeping for the last two weeks. You miss her warm presence, not touching, just there... Misty is like a flame to you. Everything about her is heat and allure and comfort until you get too close. Even burned, you can't help but ache for her fire against your skin again. And, you find, you can't fall asleep, apparently, without her there next to you.

Or perhaps, maybe just maybe you're running through the kiss you shared over and over again in your head. You don't know what to make of it except that you want it to happen, at this very moment would be amazing. And tomorrow, in the morning, when she wakes up and has sleep in her eyes and that ridiculously sweet, delirious grin on her face. And between classes, when she's still been hesitant to come your way in the halls but peeks up from her books to catch you staring and just smiles. And when you've come back to your house together after laughing and singing along to her CDs in your car.

_You are in over your head, Cordelia Goode._  

Yes, you keep thinking about her hand twisted in your hair, her body so, so close to yours. The feel of Misty's hipbones beneath your fingertips, you might have accidentally left bruises you were holding on to her so tightly. Your mind conjures that intoxicating scent of spice and sweetness that overwhelms you every time she's near you. You literally can't think of anything else but her and her bright eyes and her soft lips and these thoughts ring in your head along with your alarm as the sun rises and winks through the curtains.

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you push yourself up and off the bed, staring forlornly at your phone's screen and its lack of notifications. You're not sure what to make of Misty's silence, and so you leave the phone on the bed and start grabbing clothes out of your closet. When you finish changing, you hear the cell chime and dart over to the device, fumbling with it in your shaking hands. 

All her text reads is 'good morning'. No capitalization, no punctuation. You don't really have enough friends to understand what this means, so you try for casual; you'll let her decide whatever path you two end up going down. 

'Good morning. How are you?'

'I'm fine... hey, can we talk today?'

'Yes, of course. I'm sorry, by the way, for yelling at you yesterday... I didn't mean it.'

'What did you think was gonna come from it? Did you think I was just gonna walk away, abandon you?'

'... can we talk about this in person?'

'Yea, of course we can. Lunch?'

'See you then. Meet at my car.'

'You got it.'

Lunch can't come soon enough.

-x-

Misty is already there when you head towards your car after your class ends. She's leaning lightly against the door, not paying attention, and you watch her, just for a moment, from a distance. The wind tousles her curls and the fringe on her shawl and she is breathtaking. As you move closer, she catches the movement and the way her eyes light up makes your heart stutter. Unexpectedly, she pulls on your shoulders and draws you into a tight embrace without saying a word. You instinctually tuck yourself against her, nose pressed lightly to the smooth skin of her neck. Misty inhales deeply and doesn't let you go, her fingers tracing painfully slowly down and then back up your spine. 

When she finally releases you, you blurt out the words, "I was afraid you would realize I'm really not worth your time. I meant that yesterday. And, yeah... I thought you would end up ditching me, when you caught on to the fact. I mean, why would you stick around, really?" By the time you finish rambling, you're looking down at your Mary Janes, too embarrassed to meet her eye. This time, when her fingers come to rest beneath your chin, she doesn't move them away, but instead cups the side of your face with her palm. It takes everything in you to not nuzzle against her open hand. 

"Delia, I promise I won't ever, ever abandon you. I will always be your friend, as long as you want me with you. You've become real important to me, I hope you know that. I think y'do." Her words make you smile, and you move your hand up to rest against hers. The corners of her lips turn up as well before they suddenly fall and a furrow appears at the edges of her brows. "I did want to talk to you, though, about, y'know. The other thing." The trepidation in Misty's voice makes you drop your hand from hers.  _She can't even say the words..._  

"What is it?" the words sound tight and strained coming from your mouth, and you realize it's because you're holding your breath. The feeling of dread hits you before she starts talking again and you feel nauseated. You shake off her hand as she begins to speak again.

"I-I don't know... I don't know what came over me. I just care about you so much, y'know? But the, kiss, it was an accident. I, we were both so riled up, right? I hope you'll forgive me. And this doesn't mean I don't care, I just, I didn't mean to do that."

Her clear blue eyes try and seek yours out, but you can't look at her face right now. You feel a combination of confusion and disbelief and desperation twist in the very bottom of your soul, and you hate yourself for caring so deeply about her. The fact that you haven't had any food today makes its presence known and you can't help the grimace that crosses your features. All you want to do right now is go home and pick at the scabs that you've let heal for once and let the pain bleed right out of you. 

"I-I... can't believe you."

"Delia..." Misty reaches out and tries to grasp your arm at the crook of your elbow and you pull roughly away from her.

"No! Don't touch me."

"Cordelia --"

Before your name is fully out of her mouth, you're inside your car and you've locked the doors. She shuffles to the side because she can see your hand pushing the car into reverse and you skid sloppily out of your parking space and speed off. 

You don't bother to catch her sad, conflicted reflection in the mirror.

You can't even think straight right now.

Each beat in your chest makes your head hurt and your words stammer. 

_How could she twist things like that? 'I hope you'll forgive me.'  Like I'm the one in control. Fucking unbelievable. How dare she. How dare she?!_


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delia-centric chapter. Trigger warning for OTC medicine abuse and self harm.

You wake up with a weird feeling in your head. Like you lived things and you remember that part, but you don't remember actually feeling anything you've done. A low groan escapes your lips as you lift your hand to rub at your temples before you realize that your skin is practically vibrating with a dull stringing sensation. Your heartbeat pounds repeatedly in your head, a thrumming sound you can't escape from. 

_What the fuck did I do?_

When you attempt to open your eyes, they are bleary and the light is far too bright. You haven't a clue as to what time it is or even what day it is. The last thing you remember feeling is the slickness of a box of pills sliding down your throat. Before that, you remember your argument with Misty and anger fills your blood again, but you're too tired for it to fully manifest. A part of your brain reminds you that your immediate thought when you abandoned the idea of school for the day was the fact that Fiona hadn't been home in a few days, so you figured you could pick up some pills from the drugstore and let yourself wallow in a fucked up, blitzed out haze. Yes, a box of Robitussin seemed like a great idea then and you hate yourself for it, with the heavy headache raging through your skull. 

A sour smell permeates through your groggy head and you cringe. Vomit. That's what that is. You vaguely remember vomiting into the waste bin in your room, but... the feeling, the feeling of vomiting which you absolutely loathe... you can't remember it. Your brain screams out the taste of expensive whiskey and bile, but your tongue just doesn't know. 

When you finally open your eyes fully, you see gauze and bandages swathed all over your arms and suddenly you are very very awake. Because you never bandage your cuts and you are fucking wrapped up like you went to the ER or something. Did you go to the ER? No. No you haven't left the house, so  _what the fuck_?

Shifting in your bed, you turn to the other side, only to see Fiona staring out the window, expressionless.

 _Oh, fuck._   _Oh, fucking absolutely not, fuck. No. Nope. Just... really? Of all things? Fuck._

Then it all comes back to you, like being hit by a freaking truck. 

-x-

Fiona walks into the house to find you sprawled on the living room floor, completely out of your head. There's a bit of residue on your shirt collar from when you got sick on yourself but you can't even be bothered, not right now. Screaming, so much screaming, but you can't make any of it out in the haze of your brain. You offer your  _precious_ mother a dopey smile to match her outrage. She slaps you across the face, the sting almost completely mellowed out. You laugh. You laugh. Fiona is grabbing your shoulders, shaking you violently. To your, what, surprise? No, you don't feel  _anything_. But look at that. There's fear in her eyes, fear mixed in with all that anger. Suddenly she's grasping at your arms and you see bruising red lines criss-crossing your arms, still tender, but nothing registers, no pain. No pain. You  _love_ this feeling. You could live for this beautiful, stupid apathy. You had abstained from drinking for so long in protest against your mother, but  _god!_ had you made a stupid choice because this is  _excellent_. No wonder Fiona drinks so much! Fuck everything else! The drinks, the drugs, this is all you've been seeking for the last several years in your life. You should've known better and taken a lesson from your deranged mother eons ago.

You come briefly to again, realizing that Fiona has been talking to you, and there are fucking tears in her eyes,  _astounding_. She is holding your hands and repeating the words, "Why, why, why, Delia? Why would you do this. Cordelia. Fuck! You stupid stupid girl. What the fuck were you thinking? What are you on? Tell me. Can you fucking answer me when I ask you questions, Cordelia?" You laugh again and you can tell she wants to hit you again. You don't care.  _Who fucking cares_.

-x-

"You're awake."

"Yes. Hello, mother." Silence. Fiona doesn't look at you, doesn't even remotely turn your way and you feel absolutely sick to your stomach. The smell lingering in the room isn't helping by any means. 

"How long."

"How long what?"

"Pill popping, drinking, cutting? How fucking long, Cordelia. What are you trying to do, hm? One-up your mother?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake. You would absolutely make this about you, wouldn't you? Did you ever once consider that perhaps this has nothing to do with you?"

"Oh, really? Nothing to do with me. What else have you got, Delia. Who else do you have." Laughter comes like a bark from your lips. 

"Please. I don't have anyone. Especially not you." 

Fiona turns with angry fire in her eyes, the green-hazel colour lighting up like leaves turning in fall. 

"How dare you."

You have nothing to say to her, so you merely scoff and attempt to roll your eyes. You feel dehydrated like a shriveled flower. She looks away from you again and the room falls silent. No words are spoken for a long time, or what feels like a long time. It could be five minutes, it could be thirty. When Fiona speaks again, she sounds distant. 

"I'm taking you to a psychiatrist." Laughter, again, surprised. 

"You really don't have to do that."

"I think I do, Cordelia. I-I... don't know how I didn't see it before. But something isn't right with you. Depression, or something. And we're going to do something about it. I will not have my only daughter be some mentally-ill freak."

"Oh, fuck you! Why don't you see a fucking psychiatrist? Which of us is really crazy, huh? You have no idea. No fucking idea what I go through. You are drunk, every fucking day, constantly. And you know what? I  _get it_ , mother. I really get it now. Nothing feels better than feeling nothing, right? Numb the pain right out of you until you don't know who you are anymore. Truth is, dear mother, I want to be more like you. Because  _fuck_ whatever I was doing before this. Mother knows best in some regards after all, hm? I'm not going to a fucking psychiatrist." _  
_

"YES. YOU. ARE. You are seventeen and you are still under my care, goddammit! I am taking you and we are stopping this right now. I don't want to hear another word from you unless it's, 'When's my appointment?' Got it?"

"Fuck you."

"Tomorrow, little Delia. It's tomorrow, at three." And with that, your mother leaves the room, heels sinking into the carpet. 

You turn your face into your pillow and scream until you taste blood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will also start out being Delia-centric. But we're moving right along. Get excited for new friends and the horror and glory that is high school prom.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: very mild mentions of self-harm

It's been almost a month and your hands still tremble as you dump the tiny blue pill into your hands. You started out with little pink pills, and your psychiatrist had considered putting you on little green pills but you were averse to taking medication as it was, so the subject was dropped. For now. They kind of seem to work, you think, as you place the tab on your tongue and wash it down, the water and medicine mixing to create a jarring metal-taste before you can swallow it down. Your thoughts don't always centralize around your misery anymore, but the thoughts are still there. You kind of always thought that medication was supposed to be the easy way out, to  _fix_ everything. A blatant misconception on your part. Every day still aches with all that you can't do, won't do, and don't want to do. The temptation to release pain physically still itches at your fingertips. You didn't realize how much it had become almost an addiction as much as it was a temporary resolution. 

But, things are, in fact, better. Even though it's also been almost a month since you've talked to her.  _Misty_. It's not for her lack of trying, in her defense? After the incident in the parking lot, she had given it the weekend and then tried to call. She'd tried to call a lot. You didn't pick up, not once, and you were kinda proud of yourself. But you also couldn't bear to delete her number off your phone, either. Of course, you'd still see her at school, and you noticed the stares of something a lot like longing melted into the lines on her face, but you would pointedly avoid eye contact. 

Routine became your staple once again. Class, lunch out (alone and then not), class, work, homework, sleep. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Then weekends: volunteer, lunch (alone and then not), work, homework, sleep. Repeat, repeat. It felt good to have something else to focus on; instead of fixating on your beautiful, blonde problem, you forced yourself into focusing on yourself.  _It felt good_. 

There was the issue of the project, but a helpful listening ear had helped you sort that situation out.

-x-

"Hi." You startle from your spot on the porch in the hammock that Fiona had gotten for you. The doctor had said something about needing more sunlight or something, that you needed to get out of your room, and so your mother bought you a fucking hammock. You wouldn't admit to loving being able to lie out in the New Orleans' sun, reading and drinking tea, but as you turned away when she had shown you her newest purchase, you couldn't help the barely there smile that graced your lips. Sure, Fiona still drank, still yelled, but it was all... less than before. And you couldn't think of the last time you had smiled at your mother, and you realize that she probably couldn't either because she had caught the small, pleased look on your face and had matched it with her own. And things were better. Not great, not good, but better.

"Hi?" you glance over the railing, trying to find the source of the voice you just heard. 

"I'm down here." sitting up, you see a small, brunette girl. Her bangs brush into her eyes and she smiles brightly up at you. The stiff white collars and cuffs of her dress contrast sharply with the fitted black design. She looks kind and thoughtful and innocent. 

"Oh, hello. Who --"

"I'm Nan. We just moved in next door." she points to the sunny yellow house beside the sprawling white of your mother's estate. "I... this is going to sound weird, but I kind of sensed you? I thought maybe you could use some company."

"I... could, actually." It'd been two weeks since you went to your first appointment, two weeks since you stopped talking to the only friend you really had, two weeks and you could really feel the onset of your loneliness again. "Won't you come up and sit with me?"

Nan ascends the stairs with a kind of grace you didn't expect but aren't really surprised by either. 

"I'm Cordelia, by the way." 

"Hello, Cordelia." she smiles again before frowning in thought. "So. Uh."

"So?"

"So, what's the matter?"

"Pardon?" 

"Would you believe me if I said that sometimes I have kinda like a sixth sense?"

"I don't really know, I mean. I don't know you."

"But something is wrong. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Isn't something always wrong?"

"Only when it gets to you. You have an air of sadness about you, Cordelia. Maybe I can help." you sigh, trying to resist rolling your eyes. You can tell she has the best of intentions at heart, but you're tired of being a burden that people need to  _help_ with. "You know, you're not a burden just because you need to lean on someone sometimes." 

Your eyes widen with the lift of your brow; you almost feel like your mother.

"How did you...?" Nan laughs and shrugs, shifting in her seat beside you.

"So, can I help?"

"Why do you even want to?"

"I don't know, it's not like I seek out specific people. Something about your energy speaks to me. Plus, I'm new and I'm home-schooled. I don't have a lot of friends, and you seem like you need one. Or, you don't have to say anything at all, and we can just sit here. You can tell me about the book you're reading, and then I'll go home and tell my mom about the girl next door who has heaviness in her heart but a lock to her lips and has good taste in literature."

-x-

Somehow, you ended up telling Nan everything that had happened over the course of the last few weeks. Even the kiss, which you were afraid she might judge you over. And she had sat patiently and then organized an emailing system for you to use with Misty. And in the following two weeks, the two of you got to know one another really well.

It was, thus, kind of a lie that you hadn't talked to Misty. You hadn't, in person. In emails, she'd write her part of the paper and you'd write yours. She'd add in little comments about what was happening in her life and asked you about yours. Of course, you ignored the side notes completely, and the two of you finished the paper with little effort and gotten a high mark and everything. Emails on your end stopped, even though they didn't on hers. They still didn't, but you don't check that email anymore.

Cutting your ties seemed like the best option. 

You try your best to ignore the fact that she might be hurting, too.

* * *

 

Nan is helping you carry your final art project into the school after your lunch together when for the first time in years, someone besides Misty or a teacher comes up to you.

"Cordelia! Cordelia, wait up!" the voice surprises you, but it isn't unfamiliar. Dark swathes of hair come into view and you spy Hank Foxx striding confidently over to meet you. Hank, who had been your childhood friend until he had finally struck puberty and gained body mass and became a popular athlete and had abandoned you entirely. 

"What is it, Hank?" your sharp tone doesn't deter him in the slightest, which in turn irks you completely. Nan raises a questioning brow, but you shake your head. 

"So, you know how I was dating Kaylee right?" he doesn't pause to let you comment that you did not, in fact, know that. "Well, we kinda broke up, and prom is coming up, and I wondered if maybe you'd want to go with me?"

You stare at him briefly dumbfounded before words find their way to your lips.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Hank? Why the hell would I want to go to prom with  _you_ of all people?" _  
_

"Hey! I mean, I am one of the best athletes in the school, first of all. And I don't mean like _that_ anyways, I mean. Like, as friends, or something."

"We are not friends."

"C'mon, Goode! We used to be!"

"Emphasis on the 'used to' part!"

"Look, Cordelia, I already paid so much fucking money for this ticket. Everyone else already has a date or they aren't nearly pretty enough for anyone to want to go with them. You may be a quiet nerd, but you're a hot, quiet nerd."

"Wow. I am charmed. What a way to ask a girl to prom. How about, don't count on it."

"Cordelia." Nan interjects, ignoring Hank's bewildered look upon realizing that you are not alone. She whispers the next part in your ear. "I know you're not friends with this guy, but it's prom, right? Like, won't you regret it, or something, ten years from now that you didn't have this capstone high school bullshit to look back upon? He's paying for the ticket, you can just go and say you  _went_. And then we can sneak into the botanical gardens and drink and talk, like we always do. And you can tell me about all the embarrassing shit that happened and it'll be fun. You  _should_ , Cordelia." You scrunch your nose at the shorter girl and she waggles her eyebrows at you. 

Briefly, your mind flits to wondering about whom Misty will be going with. Bitterness seeps under your skin before you reign your thoughts back in, shaking her from your thoughts. 

"You can drink, like you always do, I'll sit and have tea like an old lady with my meds." you whisper back, smirking just a little. Nan laughs out loud at that.

 _What will her dress look like? I bet her date is cute. Really cute. I bet_ he's _really cute. Goddammit, Cordelia, stop._

"Hey!" you both turn to Hank who is even more confused than before. "What are you talking about?"

"I-I'll... go. With you. To prom. I guess." 

"You will?" despite his persistence, Hank is still surprised which makes you grin wryly at him. 

"Yeah. Pick me up at mine and call, okay? You remember the address?"

"How could I forget the Goode estate? Will Fiona be bellowing from the front porch?" You smack him a little rougher than is playful on the chest.

"Don't talk about my mother like that. Only I can do that." 

"Text me with what colour you're wearing." Hank pulls on the phone that's sticking out of your pocket and you yelp in surprise. 

"Don't do that!" He laughs, plugging his number into your phone. 

"Don't forget to text as soon as possible. I need to get you a corsage. We need to look good together." Rolling your eyes, you snatch your phone back and slide it into the back pocket of your jean shorts. You and Nan start moving through the doorway and he moves to hold it for you. 

"Why, is Kaylee gonna be there?" At the hurt look in his eyes, you stop. 

"Yeah. With the guy she cheated on me with. So."

"Oh, shit. Hank, I'm sorry." he shrugs with false nonchalance and guilt pangs in your chest. "I'm sorry. I'll see you next week?"

"Yeah. See ya, Goode." 

"Dammit. This is why I don't have any friends!!" Nan's laughter rings against your ears. "I'm a jerk."

"No, you're not. Consider it payback for that shitty prom proposal. Besides, he still wants to go to prom with you. You're going to prom, Cordelia!" 

A small smile forms at the corners of your mouth. Prom. What a weird idea. You truly never thought you were going to be at your high school prom. Panic floods through your system and you hate yourself a little bit for being such a stereotypical teenaged girl about all of this.

"Fuck, Nan! Prom is in  _a week_ and I don't even know what I'm going to wear!"

"I'll tell you what you're going to wear, Cordelia Goode. You're going to wear a dress that's going to blow everyone's mind. Including maybe a certain pretty girl that you haven't spoken about for weeks?"

"How do you always do that?"

"Sixth sense, remember? We're going to find you a dress that will have Misty Day falling all over you." 

The idea makes you blush, but you shake your head in disagreement. 

"She'll have a date, Nan. A boy-date." 

Nan shrugs again and you feel defeated in every way. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry at how long it's been, friends! Also, I'm twice as sorry for this not having Misty in it, as well. Delia is just in a growing place right now, and it wouldn't feel fair to my story to pointlessly have Misty in here for no reason. I mean, there are mentions of her, okay? I hope that appeases you even though the mentions make me kind of sad. REGARDLESS, rambling aside, the next chapter is going to be the prom chapter!! YAY. Prom. Hope you're excited. I have ~things~ planned. And I missed writing for you so much, so I hope you're still enjoying it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really have to stop promising to update as often when I know I can't. It take a lot of motivation for me to get writing. Top that off with having my wisdom teeth plucked and I haven't really been in a creative writing sort of mood. I hope this makes up for it. I don't know when I can promise another update. Just know that I AM always thinking of ideas and plotting out the story, as to when it's written... it'll come when it does. By the 16th of August, I'll be back at school, so updates might be even more unfortunately scattered. I hope I'll continue to find time to either keep updating or finish the story off. Cheers, loves.

"You've gotta be off your damn rocker, Nan, if you think I'm going to wear that dress to prom."

"What? Why? It's gorgeous!"

"It's it's! Ridiculous? And you know I can't wear something that has transparent sleeves on it. Should have fucking thought of that before accepting a prom invitation."

"No, see, look, the sleeves are lined with a  _translucent_ , skin-coloured fabric. It'll cover your arms just fine, Cordelia. And it's not ridiculous, it's stunning. Revealing enough that it'll be eye-catching, classy with the black and white floral lace, dramatic in the full length skirt. Misty won't know what hit her."

You pout at Nan a little at the mention of Misty's name. 

"I don't want everything about prom to be about her."

"I know that -- you want it to be about you, too. And don't you think you'd feel that way if you were wearing a dress that turned every guy's head and made every girl seethe with envy?"

Sighing, you lift the dress up again by its hanger. The sheer parts of the fabric shimmer and the white and black has almost a velvety texture. It is a beautiful dress, but you know you'll feel self-conscious in it. Towards the middle of the skirt, the lace vanishes again, which would leave your legs visible.  _Well, my legs are my best asset..._

"I guess I could --" "Just try it on?"

You look at one another and burst out laughing.

"Alright! Fine! I will try it on. But you have to tell me if I look stupid, ok? Ugh, I liked that other dress just fine."

"That boring black smock is not worthy of being your prom dress, don't even think about it. Go on, then!"

Slipping into the dressing room, you slide the heavy curtain shut and stare at your reflection in the mirror, the dress clutched tightly between your hands.  _What am I doing? I'm playing the fool here. Even if I get this dress, even if I go to prom, what good is that gonna do me? Do you really think Misty is going to drop Peter McMahon for you? Stupidly handsome, rather kind, pretty smart, unfortunately decent guy, Peter McMahon? I wouldn't drop him for me! And I don't even like guys... Christ, Cordelia, get a grip here._

You strip quickly and slide the dress over your head, leaving your head down and avoiding the mirror. The black stilettos you had grabbed for the other dress you tried on are in the corner and you tuck your feet into them before pushing aside the curtain and stepping out to face Nan. You feel silly in this dress, feel that it is for someone much prettier than you. This makes you lift your head in defiance at the brunette sitting with wide eyes in front of you, challenging her to reveal the horrible truth that this dress is just not a dress for a girl like you.

Nan doesn't speak, just continues to stare with bright eyes. You shuffle nervously, almost tottering over in the heels.

"Well? Say something!"

"Cordelia..."

"It's horrid, I know. I'm changing, we'll try a different store." You begin to turn and she darts up, grabbing your arm.

"You're a lunatic, you look breathtaking. Like you could be the sovereign of the entire freaking world."

"I -- what? You really think so?"

"If you don't get this dress, I don't know if we can be friends anymore." she teases lightly. "I told you this store would be perfect, none of that bullshit 'traditional' prom stuff. Those rhinestoned disasters shouldn't be put on toddlers much less teenage girls. You're going to go and buy this one-of-a-kind dress and nobody else is going to have a dress remotely like it at prom. And Misty Day is going to see that dip in the lace," Nan pokes you gently against your sternum, where the white lace curls enticingly low. "and she's going to see that obscenely wonderful open back and she's going to lose her mind. And it's going to be awesome. And I can't wait to hear about it."  _  
_

You emit a little noise, of amusement or defeat you know not. Nodding your head, you return to the dressing room and stare at yourself. Your fingers trail over where white lace tangles into black, pressing hard against your ribcage. A sharp inhale. "Ok. Ok! You can do this, Cordelia. You can..."

* * *

You and Nan part ways after dinner, and when you're finally alone in your room again, you're left with all your thoughts and doubts. A teasing, tempting feeling rises to your fingertips, one that you haven't thought too much about in the last few weeks. Misty's emails. The account that Nan set up for you, you don't know why you left it open. The desire to check it, to read all those emails that Misty had sent over your time apart, pulls strongly at you.

"Oh, why the hell not." You mutter to yourself. 

Snapping open your laptop, you quickly maneuver to the Gmail account and type in the account details. [USERNAME: projectmommies PASSWORD: doitforthechild] You snicker at Nan's silly little trick to get you to smile every time you felt the stress, the anger, the sadness when you had to interact with your infuriatingly beautiful crush. 

It'd been about three weeks since you last checked the account, and there were seven new messages. You start from the beginning, the very first email exchanged from Misty to you, going back to re-read the parts that you tried so hard to push aside the first time around. The words begin as black text flooding down the screen and quickly morph inside your head, into the sound of her voice, Misty's accent gently twisting around each word.

_Hey Delia, the baby is fine, don't you worry. I typed up the analysis section, let me know what you think. Please edit away, I don't think I did a very good job. Promise I did try though. You're better than me with phrasing, I think mine comes out a bit awkward sometimes. Syntax and all that. Anyway, I started volunteering with my mama, took your spot, I guess. She said you came in and told her you might not come in for a while... I really hope it's not because of, well, of what happened with us. I know how happy the shelter makes you. My mama doesn't, uh, know about anything, so if you wanna come back, you really should. I think the kitties miss you. Uh, I miss you, too, you know. Ok, well, like I said, let me know what needs fixing. Talk to you. x Misty_

You read every email through and through until you get to the newest ones.

_Hi Delia. Uh, I know the project is over now, but I... I don't know, I still miss you. I guess it hasn't really been that long. Feels like forever. I'm glad we got that A! Knew we would. Knew we would with you working on the project. You're always a star, you know that? I hope everything is ok with you. Are they? I'd love to hear back from you. It's ok if you don't wanna though. I'll just keep emailing on the off chance that maybe you will. x Misty_

_Hiya. So, today in my AP Lang class, we were required to bring in a poetry or prose piece that we found touching, interesting, whatever. Someone shared this one poem and, well, I'm just gonna quote a little bit for you: "Go slow- maybe I’m not used to this./_ _To the way you look at me like a synonym of the split second/_ _between a bird’s egg teetering on the edge of a nest/_ _and its nosedive over the side into yolk." I don't know why, but when she was reading aloud, those words, the whole poem really, I just... I thought of you. It's called Adagio For the Fear of Love, by the way. By this girl named Meggie Royer. I read some of her other stuff, I think you might like her, too. OH! By the way, I heard my Lang teacher and your Lit teacher are dating haha. I think they're rather cute together, don't you? How do you like that class, by the way? I loved it last year. x Misty_

This email leaves you sitting quietly for a long moment. You try to process the meaning behind the words and decide to look up the poem and read the whole thing. It leaves you shaking and a small pit forms in your stomach as you read on. 

_Hey Cordelia. Sorry I haven't written in a while. Well, I guess that doesn't really matter. It feels like it does, to me, for some reason. I don't know. Anyways, I hadn't emailed because I got in a little fight with my friends and we were struggling to work it out. Things are fine now. They're... I know they aren't the nicest sometimes, but, deep down they're harmless, really. They don't really know themselves yet. Not like me. Not like you. Uh... your new friend seems nice! I'd like to meet her someday, maybe. You seemed happier than I'd seen you in a while. That's great. I guess that's all. x Misty_

_Oh my god. Delia! The girls told me it might happen, but I didn't believe them. Can you believe Peter McMahon asked me to prom?_  (Of course you can believe it. Peter doesn't deserve you, you gorgeous dork.) _Oh my god. I don't know why he asked me, but I freaked out a little. He's such a nice guy. Mama is so excited, she's gonna help me make a dress for prom. I hope it isn't too different from everybody else's dress. My mama's a great seamstress, though, so I think it'll be ok. Peter McMahon. That's some crazy shit, right there. Are you goin to prom?? x Misty_

_Hi Delia! I hope finals aren't stressing you out too much! Lord knows I'm losing my mind, but it'll all be fine! x Misty_

_Cordelia, you should really come back to the shelter. I think mama misses you, too (though not as much as I do). She'd... she was trying not to mention your name cause you stopped coming round and all and I stopped bringing you up at dinner every damn night. But she just kinda casually mentioned you today. She said the shelter isn't the same without you, took your help for granted. No pressure, just thought you should know. x Misty_

_Hey. Cordelia, Peter asked me out on a date. And ... I couldn't answer. I don't know why. He was so nice about it, said we could wait till after prom to think about it. It just felt so all of a sudden, which is silly cause I'm going to PROM with the boy in three days, for fuck's sake. But I flipped. I don't know. I really could use your advice right now. The girls all think I'm crazy for not jumping at the chance. Am I? Crazy? x Misty_

Jealously pools white hot inside your chest and you have to take a few long, deep breaths before you can think clearly again. You check the date of the most recent email, surprised to see it was sent today at an extremely odd hour of the morning, 4:39. Misty was always an early sleeper, practically ready for bed once she watched the moon rise each night. You can only think of one night where Misty was awake at such a pre-dawn hour, and it was very much so not planned.  _She must have been up all night thinking about this date. Probably beating herself up for not accepting._

You don't know what to do now that you've read all these emails. What you were expecting to get out of them. The undeserved jealousy simmers beneath your skin, but you push it down. Misty, in her emails, has totally ignored the fact that you very nearly, blatantly exposed your feelings for her. You're not sure what to make of that. At the minimum, what you've gleaned from these emails is that she does, in fact, care about you, inexplicably. You could smack yourself, but you can't help but give in, just a little bit. Maybe you can push your feelings aside. Maybe you can be friends again. Because you really, really like the sound of that.

Typing quickly, the words spring up in the text box and you hit send before you can have a moment for doubts.

_Misty, You're not crazy. Tell your mom I'll see her on Sunday morning. Cordelia_

You're giving yourself prom. If things don't work according to plan, then, well... you'll just have to see where it goes from there.

* * *

 

 

References for Cordelia's prom dress: [x](https://www.etsy.com/listing/191066786/color-matching-white-and-black-long) [x](https://www.etsy.com/listing/189754085/2014-hot-selling-back-open-back-lace) 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, did not get to the prom yet. It's late here, so I'm closing up. I do have prom laid out, and I think you'll like it. I'll try and get to it soon. The poet mentioned is writingsforwinter on Tumblr.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry I'm a trashbag, you guys. Sorry I've been gone forever.

Your fingers are shaking against the banister at the top of the stairs as you wait. Wait. Wait...  _Ugh!_  You're trying your hardest to be patient, but you can't help the bubbles of anxiety that are popping against the inside of your skull.  _  
_

You sense her presence before she actually touches you, Fiona's hands cold against the thin fabric wrapped round your shoulders. Jumping reflexively, you attempt to settle under her touch, which is surprisingly gentle.

"Why the hell are you so fidgety, Delia? You need to relax, or you're gonna tear a hole right through this nice dress that Nan helped you find." she looks pointedly down where your neatly manicured nails clutch the fabric in a death grip. When you realize, you let go and offer your mother a tight nod. 

"I'm sorry, it's just..."

"Don't apologize. Stand up straight." Fiona pinches the tight muscle between your shoulders and your neck, forcibly relaxing your upper body. "Again, why are you so nervous? You --" her words cut off and her hands drop from off your body; even she notices the odd level of intimacy you were sharing. Spinning your body to face her, your mother pushes your hair, long side-sweeping bangs delicately curled, away from your made-up eyes, "You look beautiful, Cordelia." You can't help it -- you start to tear up. "Hey, stop that. You'll ruin your makeup; took long enough to get you this way." And with that, you're both back to normal and you roll your eyes half-heartedly. 

The doorbell rings,  _finally_ , and you move as gracefully down the stairs as possible. When you open the door, Hank is standing there in a crisp suit and a black bow-tie. His eyes are wide and you can't even blame him as they trail slowly up and down your body. He lingers a bit too long and you smack the pocket above his chest. 

"Sorry! Hi, Cordelia. You look amazing." the smile he offers is genuine, and you provide a small quirk of lips in response. 

"Thank you. You don't clean up badly, yourself." This makes him grin, cheekily, and you smack him again. 

"Here, this is for you, well for us, I guess." pulling a pair of plastic containers from the bag in his hand, Hank retrieves crisp white rose arrangements from each container. The corsage is delicate and simple, and you offer your wrist to him, watching as he slides the large flower over your stiff hand. The bones in your wrist seem especially slender with the flower engulfing it and for some reason, this makes you feel vulnerable, so very fragile, for just a moment. Air catches in your throat and you're not quite sure why until you remember that you never thought you'd make it to this moment, in all honesty. Suddenly, your hands start shaking again, and Hank wraps his big, clumsy fingers around yours. It isn't intimate, it's gentle and protective and you breathe a small sigh of relief. At least with Hank, you  _understand._ Hank is easy, Hank is simple. Thank god for that. "You ok?" 

"Yeah, yeah... sorry. Boutonnière for you?"

"Is that what this thing is called?" this makes you laugh, a small laugh, but laughter nonetheless. 

"Yes, come here." he pulls his lapel slightly away from his body and you pin the thing in place. "Perfect." When you look up, your smile is sincere and he holds your hand again, and you squeeze his fingers, trying to pull some of his confidence and bravado into yourself. "Are we ready?"

From behind you, you hear an exclamation of, "Hell no!" 

"Oh, hello, Ms. Goode." the fear is evident in Hank's eyes and you hide a smile behind gestures of fixing your hair once more. 

"I need at least one photo of the two of you together for prom, or nobody's going to believe my Delia left the house at all." 

"Fiona, please."

"Shut up and pose, Delia." Begrudgingly, you and Hank move to the porch, to stand in front of the pristine white door. He wraps his arm around your waist and you do the same to him, and try not to cringe, berating yourself and reminding yourself that you're spending the rest of the night together, so you might as well try and enjoy yourself. Before you notice, Hank pinches your waist which makes a grin spread across your face and he hams it up for your mother's photo. 

"Cheater!" you hear yourself exclaiming. 

"Did you think I'd forget how ticklish you are, Goode?" 

"Alright, alright, both of you, enough fooling around and get off my porch." 

"Wow, thanks, mom." The words are hardly out of your mouth when the door slams in both of your faces.

"Charming as ever, your mom." 

"I know she's still horrible and abrasive, but..." 

"No, she seems... better. Did you drug her?"

"Hank!"

"I'm just kidding. I'm glad she's being nicer, even if it's a hardly noticeable change. You never deserved a mother as harsh as she is."

You huff quietly, most of you wanting to believe him, but that nagging little voice still tries to tell you otherwise. Tugging on his arm, you suppress both voices.

"C'mon. Let's get going." 

* * *

 

God, you're even annoying yourself at this rate, but you feel your anxiety spike again as Hank pulls into the parking space at the swanky venue the school has rented out for the evening. All the girls in glittery gowns are moving towards the entrance like they're floating in space and you can't stop thinking that you're going to make a fool of yourself. That you've  _already_ made a fool of yourself for even thinking there was a good reason to come here in the first place. You could swear that your heart rate is skyrocketing and you can feel the quick, reedy breaths of air escaping your now dry lips. You feel completely and utterly paralyzed until...

"Hey, Cordelia? Cordelia!" Hank shakes your shoulder gently, nudging you to face him. "Are you ok?" 

"I'm..."

"Goode, focus. What's wrong?" 

"I -- I don't know?"

"You're breathing really hard. Do you need to go to the doctor or something?" 

"I just --"

"Hey. Hey, Cordelia. Look at me, ok? Just, look at me." Commands are something you can work with and you oblige him. From the way his face contorts, you can tell you probably look totally panic-stricken. "Are you having a panic attack, or something?" You want to nod your head, but your neck is stiff and all you can do is blink nervously. "What should I do? Uh... um. Hold my hand, ok?" Your hand moves, as if on auto-pilot, from grabbing the seat to grabbing Hank's hand. You can see his fingertips going white, but you can't loosen your grip. You see his face twist again, but you still can't let go. "Ok, ok. Can you try and take a deep breath?" 

 _One._ "Good. Ok. Good. Again." he fidgets with the radio and some bubblegum synth-pop starts trickling alongside static from the speakers.  _Two._   _Three._   _Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten._ As the pressure balloon slowly deflates from your chest, you can tell you've relaxed your death-grip on his hand because relief is seeping into his features the way you can feel it cooling the heat in your cheeks. 

"I'm sorry." are the first words out of your mouth.

"No, it's ok. Don't apologize. You're ok."

"I'm sorry."

"Cordelia, it's ok." his thumb circles on the top of your hand and he smiles sympathetically. You want to apologize again, you don't know why he asked you because he knew you when you were younger, he should know how much of a mess you are. The words are almost on your lips again and he tightens his hold on your fingers until you look him in the eyes again. "It's ok." You nod. "We'll just, uh, hang out until you're ok?" Another nod. 

Ten minutes and two and a half songs pass, the flow of dressed-up teenagers has slowed, and you feel less horrible now. 

"I think I'm ready now." your voice is hoarse like you've been screaming and Hank's nose crinkles.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Could you go and get me some, I don't know, punch or water or something?"

"Yeah, alright. Let's go." He slides from the driver's seat and moves quickly around the front of the car to hold your door open for you, offering his hand and everything -- the perfect gentleman. Suddenly, you're grateful he's here with you. You didn't think he'd be so good in this situation.

As you move arm-in-arm to the entrance, you take another deep breath to prepare yourself for the unavoidable chaos of the night to come. 

You try not to make eye contact with anyone you pass as Hank pulls you deeper into the building, shoulders brushing tuxedo or sequin-clad shoulders. But you already hear the murmuring beginning. 

"Is that Cordelia Goode?" "I think so?" Their words make you tense, until... "Damn." "Seriously! Who knew the teacher's pet cleaned up so well." Ok, barely a compliment but you decide you'll take it. At least it builds your confidence, knowing that you don't look half bad. 

Hank leads you to the table you're assuming you've been assigned to, noting with growing concern that you're not sure who exactly you and Hank are going to be sitting with. You sit anyways, glancing at the empty seats around you. There aren't any place cards with names or anything, just a letter and number designation at the center of the table next to the floral arrangement. 

"I'm gonna get you that drink now." 

"Ok, thanks." you smile, but it feels lukewarm.

Hank darts off in search of the refreshments, but you see him get intercepted by friends half way in the process. Sighing, your fingers begin to drum against the tablecloth on their own accord, red nails feeling too flashy for your tastes. Suddenly, you spy a couple of Misty's friends milling about and they seem to be looking in your general direction, for whatever reason. This makes you sit up straighter in your seat, attempting to correct the slouchy posture you're so used to. When Zoe and Madison get closer, you shoot out of your seat, moving to stand behind the chair, your fingers digging into the plush material. Zoe has a tiny smile on her face as she tugs her boyfriend, Kyle, towards your ( _their???_ ) table, while Madison extends nothing but a sneer. 

"Hi, Cordelia." the waif-like, sandy blonde approaches before any of the others do, waving slightly. "I didn't know you were coming to prom. Misty's gonna be so excited you're here." Madison laughs, short and sharp, and it seems directed at you. 

"You know she's going with Peter, right, Cordelia? Why are you even at our table?"

"Madison, shut up. Sorry." 

"I, uh, I'm here with Hank?" you could hit yourself over the trembly question that comes out in place of a statement. Both girls' eyebrows lift in surprise but Kyle just smiles good-naturedly. 

"Aw, yeah, I remember! Hank told me he invited you. He said you guys were like childhood friends, right?" 

"Um, yeah. We were." 

"Figures. So it isn't a date. I should tell Kaylee, she'll be pleased."

"No! Don't, Madison, please."

"And why not, gumdrop?"

"Aw, come off it, Madison, Hank's a good guy." Kyle interjects, poking her in the shoulder. For whatever reason, she softens at his touch and backs off. 

"Fine, whatever. Who cares. Where the fuck is Jake?" Her date, you presume. 

"I think I saw him getting snacks." Zoe speaks up again, and you marvel at how different the two girls are, find it fascinating that these are Misty's second-in-commands. 

"He better not be getting crumbs on that tux." with a growl, she spins on a silver stiletto, golden blonde ringlets whipping around behind her. 

"Hey, what's goin' on here?" Somehow, with five words, she makes your heart stop all over again. 

When your eyes meet, you're not sure which of you is more surprised. You're frozen and Misty gasps sharply, taking you in with what looks like confusion, excitement, fascination, and something you don't yet want to put a voice to. It's like, you know it's a cliché, but nobody else seems to exist anymore and she's moving towards you with a growing smile on her face and you're pretty sure you haven't moved at all yet. But before you know it, she has you wrapped up in her arms and won't let go. The satiny texture of her gown brushes against your clavicle and maybe you tremble in her arms and she still won't let go. 

"Delia." she whispers against your ear, breath mingling with hairspray and curls, her voice warm honey and gravel roads, and she won't let go until you finally catch on and wind your arms around her waist. And it feels ok, you feel ok. It's like nothing at all has changed and it feels alright. She's not mad, she's happy to see you, of all things, and you could cry, but it's not just your body that feels like it's been iced over but your brain too. "Hi." Misty holds you at arm's length and looks you up and down again, and again, like she can't stop herself, her wide blue eyes catching every bit of the too-dim lighting. You allow yourself to do the same and see gold silk or satin draped over her torso like a Grecian goddess followed by tiers of varied lace and a single veneer of sheer tulle, and it is unbelievable how beautiful she looks. 

"You look amazing." "You look amazing." she bursts out in a peal of giggles and you crack a smile, willing yourself to loosen up. 

"Hi! I missed you. A lot."

"I-I missed you, too." 

"Wow, seriously, Delia. You look so beautiful. Hey, Peter! C'mere. Doesn't Cordelia look beautiful?" he walks over and it's kind of stupid how good-looking the guy is and you can't do anything but smile kind of awkwardly at him, figuring he must feel the same way, probably a bit baffled by Misty's enthusiasm. 

But then, he ends up being as good-natured as you remember him being (maybe a school project together, in middle school or something?). "Hi, Cordelia. You do look quite lovely tonight." and the whole thing is causing you to flush like never before because now all of these idiots are all looking at you and  _where the hell is Hank when you really need him?_  

You eke out something that resembles a 'thank you', and Misty is holding your hand and has yet to release you. 

It's going to be a long night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't get to the juicy part yet. Still kinda brain-stuck. Working on it...


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a day (and a half...) late. But... here goes. Cordelia-centric. Enjoy~~

Ok, so it's not so bad. Not so bad, you think, as you watch the people around you dancing and mingling. It's kind of weird because your limited understanding and knowledge of prom actually comes from the realm of fiction, so really, this is nothing like what you expected. A fair few of the girls in the room have already  _been_ to a senior prom before, with their older boyfriends or their older whatevers. Your brain resides solely in romantic movies and crappy tv dramas you leave on while you do homework. Naturally, you expected endless slow dances and a night that would drag on for all eternity, because who nowadays dances to just slow music? But now it's even more bizarre and fascinating because the DJ is playing some popular hip-hop music that you've heard in passing on some other student's car radio. And all of these people, dressed in gowns that cost hundreds of dollars or rented tuxes, are dancing like they are at any other dance. 

So, it's not so bad, but you're also kind of bored. Because the problem lies in the fact that you and Hank are not romantically interested in one another and you don't like 95% of the people here. Thus, you sit and Hank is next to you, but he's talking to Kyle, not paying you much mind. Zoe and Madison have disappeared to who knows where. And, most upsetting of all, Misty and Peter have not returned since they left the table to dance at least five songs ago. 

You've seen them, of course, amongst the masses. Kind of hard to miss that crazy, wavy blonde hair in relatively bohemian up-do that just emphasizes both how little Misty cares for societal norms and also how she still manages to supersede any and everybody else in beauty. Occasionally, her head will poke up past the sea of shoulders. Whenever she spots you, she smiles, offers a wave of fingers above the clean cut line of Peter's shoulder. Great. 

And then, suddenly, "Cordelia! Hey, let's dance." Hank is suddenly frantic and you raise an eyebrow at him.

"Why?"

"Uh, because we're at prom? And we haven't danced yet?"

"Where's Kaylee?" at that, Hank  _nearly_ blushes. But, hey, you did decide to go to prom with this factor in mind. It isn't like you don't have (some) ulterior motives as well. Before he can even stutter out an answer, you grab his hand and pull him towards the dance floor before your bravado can wear off. You don't want to sit there all night, anyways, and it isn't like you were making progress with your goal, so you might as well help Hank with his. He squeezes your hand in gratitude, offering a wary smile, and you spin to face him. "Take My Breath Away" starts playing in the background and you groan internally. 

You plaster a smile on to your face but then remind yourself to just make  _some_ effort to enjoy yourself and you ease into a softer, smaller smile, which widens by a fraction when Hank offers you his hand and winks. His hand moves to your waist and you settle your cheek against his shoulder so that you can just peek over it. The song's slow lull is  _almost_ romantic and you wish that you were in someone else's arms right now, swaying to 80's nostalgia. You can see her, too, and it's frustrating and you just want... but how? You have no fucking idea. 

Hank continues to sway with you, moving in shuffling circles, and it's almost as if every couple on the dance floor is synchronous. As the song draws to a close, you begin to turn towards Hank, a witty comment on the tip of your tongue when you see,  _oh my god_. Fucking Peter is lip-locked with your favourite blonde problem and you suddenly feel faint or sick with heat and irrational anger and a boatload of anxiety. 

"Oh, god." Hank moves both of his hands to your waist, steadying you. 

"Cordelia?"

"Oh, god. Oh, god."

"What's wrong?"

"Is it -- do you -- would you mind if I go get some air? I just... I think I --"

"Yes, of course, go. You're fine. Text me or call me if you need anything, ok? Promise?" You nod and dart out the door and hope to God you don't actually throw up, because that would be truly ridiculous. 


	14. Chapter 14

Your breaths are belaboured, each inhale, or gasp rather, of air attacking your lungs like a jack hammer, knocking your ribs against one another. Suddenly, your pretty dress is far too restricting and all you can do is try to remember to breathe. Your mind keeps drawing blanks like a disposable camera with no more photos, but more like a gun with no more rounds, any and all effort is utterly futile. There is such a swirl of emotions that you're not even crying, you're not one-hundred percent sure  _what_ it is that you are feeling except the feeling of being an animal with its foot caught in metal jaws. So, you sit on the bench outside the building and wait. You almost want to pray you're so distressed, pray to a god you don't believe in. Music still trills out into the open patio area, you can't quite remember the name of the pop tune, but you're sure everyone is enjoying it. 

_Focus on the music. Relax. It's ok. You're ok. Remember, you're ok. You're ok. You are ok._

Your brain almost settles, a falling weight accepting gravitational pull back to earth, until you hear the clatter of heels and someone  _else's_ nervous breathing. 

"Ugh." Said someone is sitting perched on another bench out here, you can barely see her out of the corner of your eye, she's just out of your peripheral vision. "Cordelia?"  _Is life one continuously cruel joke?_  

You turn, grateful that your emotions didn't release as a flood of tears. Misty is... tense, to say the least. But you can't figure out why. The gorgeous, charming boy who took her to prom kissed her, a boy who made her nervous and probably gave her butterflies  _kissed her_ , and she is sitting out here, across the walkway from you, staring back at you. Why?

"Delia, what are you doin' out here?" You shake your head.

"What are  _you_ doing out here?" She's taken aback at the accusatory tone you can't keep out of your voice. You want to berate yourself because what right do you even have, but you don't let down your blank, icy facade. You can't. Not now. 

"I -- Peter, he... kissed me. And..."

"And?"

"I don't know. It took me by surprise and now I don't know how I feel about it or him and I mean, I like him, I do, but I don't know? If I like him?" She says all of this looking down at her shoes, her knees touching and her feet pointing outwards. Misty says this and you're not sure how to respond, but then she looks at you like you should have the answer. And, of course, you don't. 

Her eyes stay on you, inquisitive,  pleading, but you have nothing to say. You look away, down at your own shoes. 

Now, you're both sitting out here, rather pathetically, you mentally note, and neither of you are saying anything. Misty begins to tap her heel at a rapid-fire pace, presumably releasing anxious energy, then, suddenly, as quickly as it began, it stops. 

"Why are you out here, Cordelia?"

Words don't even get stuck in your throat because they aren't trying to come out at all. You just glance half-heartedly at her. How could you tell her? How could you tell her now? After all of this? Sure, she's saying she doesn't know if she likes him, but now you're more sure than ever that she sure as hell doesn't like you. Like that, anyways. And you're no longer sure you can just be friends with her -- you want to, painfully, desperately so, but god, it feels like it might hurt you for the rest of your life. You know you would do so anyways, but right now, you just need time. You don't respond. 

"Delia?" 

"I. Had a panic attack. That's all. I just needed to get some air."

"Oh, Delia, oh no, I'm so sorry. Here I am whining about this silly boy problem and I didn't even think..." Misty rushes quickly to your side, nudging you over on the bench and wraps her arm around your shoulders. Your jaw clenches and you try not to grind your teeth together as she rubs her hands up and down your arms. You're grateful that she doesn't try to say anything more, she just keeps her hold on you and begins moving both of you along to the beat of the song that's flowing from inside.

"I like this song. Do you know what it is?"

"No idea..." you haven't really been listening and her interest forces you to pay more attention. A crooning female voice vibrates powerfully through the air. 

_To chain our hearts and tear apart and come together again. A lover's bane forever will remain and I remember when... Ahoo, stars are falling, are we falling, too? Ahoo, dawn is coming, what's this coming to? On a night like this. On a night like this. Ahoo, stars are falling, are we falling, too?_

"...I like this song, too." Misty suddenly springs from her seat, startling you. 

"Dance with me?" 

"What?" You can feel your eyes grow wide and your hands start to shake and why does she have to do this to you. 

"Dance with me. Please?" Her open palm is at your shoulder and the music plays on and you... go for it. You take her hand and she pulls you up, immediately twirling you. Letting go of your hands, she begins to dance, careful intricate steps and twisting of hands; music and movement are so intrinsic to her being, she is so natural and you had almost, not forgotten, but you definitely pushed it from your mind. And now, watching her again, you freeze up. But she takes both of your hands and moves you to the music, playfully dancing around you. And this song so isn't helping because you're listening to these fucking lyrics, and your heart is trying to run right out of your chest like your ribcage is the finish line and it's about to burst through. And the stars  _are_  falling, they're twinkling and dancing, just like her, and she is smiling, not at all concerned with anything that was plaguing her before. No boys, no stress, no confusion, just Misty, here, and dancing with you. 

_Ahoo, stars are falling, are we falling, too? If we survive the storming, and we're alive by morning, we'll never be the same. I'll never be the same..._

The song finishes and you can see that Misty was definitely listening to the lyrics too because her movements have slowed dramatically and she's still holding your hands, but she looks pensive now. That intensely blue gaze meets yours and Misty's lips part, the quietest gasp escaping her. Space-time might be falling apart at this very moment because she is so close and yet you know she is so far from you right now. Misty lets go of your hands and you could feel _her_ hands shaking as they brushed past your own. It surprises you. She can't meet your eyes. 

"...Misty?" biting your lip, you probe further, "Are you ok?" she nods, barely.

She still can't look at you, but, "I'm just really... happy... that you're here tonight. That's all."  _That's all_. It should upset you, but the way she says it. You can hear the lie. She's quiet but she's exploding on the inside, you can just  _tell_. The wind picks up a bit and gives you a small chill and you are suddenly so much more hopeful.  _  
_

And then of all things to start playing, you both immediately straighten up at the sound of that guitar melody and that unmistakably warm, serene, familiar voice.

_I took my love and I took it down..._

Misty turns to look at you at the exact moment you turn to face her. Her eyes are slightly wide and a little bit nervous, and you just want her to... to be happy, with you. 

"Dance with me?" Your offer is so quiet, you almost don't hear your own voice but she does. And Misty still just can't speak, but she moves to you and winds her arms around you, resting at your waist, hands clasped behind your back. When you twine your fingers behind her neck, she pulls closer so that you have no choice but to rest your cheek against her clavicle. And low at the base of her neck, you can hear her heart beating in a way that sounds utterly uncoordinated. 

Neither of you are even moving yet, but then Stevie's voice spurs you to action and you gently push against her so that she begins to sway with you. 

Maybe both of you are hardly breathing, but it's the most alive you've felt in years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The other song is Night Like This by LP.


	15. Chapter 15

The air is so warm around you, the perfect temperature that makes it feel like time has stopped around you -- there is no more air, everything is just an extension of yourself. You feel like Icarus, flying recklessly in that ethereal high, dangerously approaching the radiant heat of the sun. And you're still in Misty's arms and she feels like everything you've been craving for longer than you can ever remember, before Misty, even. But she's here now, and you didn't know it in definite terms before, thought perhaps it was profound infatuation, but now you are certain: she is your perfect counterpart. Stevie's final notes draw the song to an end all too soon, and you feel like Atlas, but the weight on your shoulders isn't exactly Heaven ( _but it's pretty close_ , you muse), it's the weight of sudden and new possibility. 

Misty doesn't let you go, so neither do you. Some other song is playing on, but neither of you are paying prom much mind any longer. She holds you slightly away from herself, looking down at you through curled lashes; she tries to say... something, but the words don't come. 

"Mist, I..." another loss for words. What would you even try to say now? Your nerves are practically rattling internally, your brain generating no results. Your heart, however, can create electrical impulses all on its own, and it seems that with each pump of blood, the signals are pointing to the same answer.

She looks expectant, to say the least, so you press your thumb against the edge of her chin, tilting her face down towards your own. Her lips part before you even move to meet her, but when you finally kiss her... It doesn't contain the frenetic energy of your first lip lock, but the passion runs like an undercurrent, an exposed wire ready to spark. Everything about Misty, she just exudes a softness and a warmth that is all encompassing, in stark contrast with your sharp, cool edges. And her mouth fits so neatly with your own. As you take her lower lip gently between your teeth, your fingers move slightly into her hair, tangling with bobby pins and flowers. She lets out that gorgeous noise again; you almost don't notice because your mouths hardly separate. Her fingers have fitted their grip to the lace, currently being bunched up between her knuckles, on your lower back. You want to kiss Misty forever, that's all you can think, that you could do exactly that. And this time, she does not pull away. She's kissing you back and you know she means it, you can feel it in the brush of her lips and teeth as she draws you ever so slightly closer.

In this kiss, you know every emotion you don't have the right adjectives for, and Misty probably isn't ready to hear them, if you're being honest. But it doesn't matter because she doesn't need to hear them, you don't need to say them, she knows, she will understand. That's enough. Until... of course, at the most opportune of moments, you suddenly cannot for the life of you get the image of  _fucking Peter_ kissing Misty out of your head. You're standing here, kissing her. That should be enough for you to know that Misty feels the same way you do, but you cannot stop the automatic rising panic response that is generated and you break away from her. Suddenly the air is harsh and present once again, prickling at your skin.

Misty looks utterly bewildered at the loss of your lips against hers, and you almost get the chance to explain yourself when over the edge of her shoulder you see one Miss. Madison Montgomery holding her phone in hand. She doesn't even sneer at you, she just grins and winks before slipping away. 

_Well, fuck._


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't written in forever. Uni and personal issues got the best of me this last semester. Hopefully I'll finish this fic before the fall. Kind of a connecting chapter, not much happening yet. But soon! Hope you stick around. Thanks, always, for reading. xx

The rest of prom night is kind of a blur. You watched as Madison slid through the doorway inside, your eyes becoming wide with anxiety. Misty's hand had moved to your shoulder, the gentle pressure pushing you out of your frozen panic.

"Hey, Delia, what is it?" she ghosts her fingertips across your cheek, concern etching lines into her face.

"Madison..." Her brows furrow in bewilderment.

"What about Madison?" You're looking right at her but you know you aren't seeing anything. 

"She... she took a picture? Of us?"

"Cordelia, do you mean...?" Finally, your eyes lock back on to hers and you blink back nervous tears. 

"Yeah." 

"Oh. Shit." This would've upset you, but it doesn't sound like she regrets kissing you. Something, though, something is definitely not right. The picture is strangely incriminating, though neither of you have done anything wrong. A small grimace crosses your face before you feel your phone buzz lightly against your hip. Giving Misty's hand a squeeze, you take your phone out and quickly scan the text you've received.

_Delia, are we still on for the gardens tonight or have you enthralled Ms. Day with your good looks?_

Nan somehow always makes you feel better, even if the feeling in your stomach will not settle. You hadn't realized that the end of prom was so close. Soon, everyone will be slipping towards house parties or making the drive towards beach houses either on the Gulf Coast or maybe even all the way to Florida. 

"Mist, prom is almost over."

"Mmhm." her shoulders are still tense, and you're not exactly sure what's wrong. Your thoughts begin to race and you think about what Fiona would have to say about all of this. You squeeze her hand again, though whether you're comforting her or yourself, it's hard to say. 

"Did you have plans afterwards? Or..."

"Everyone was gonna go -- Peter's parents have a house by the coast in Mississippi. They were plannin' on a big party."

"Are you going?" With your heart stuttering against your ribs, you feel confused about where the two of you stand now. You've kissed, Misty _wanted_ to kiss you, but now...?

She giggles, pushing a curl behind her ear before taking your other hand. "I was kinda hopin' I could just stay and talk with you." This is what you were hoping to hear, though you didn't really have your hopes up. It makes you smile despite yourself. 

"Ok, yeah. Originally I was going to go meet with Nan in the botanical gardens. We were gonna talk prom and stuff. Maybe we could go hang out with her and talk about this photo situation? I can tell it's stressing you out... I'm a little freaked, too. Nan and her dad make their own wine, she says it's really good and I bet she'll share." Her smile slowly matches yours. 

"Yeah. Yeah, ok, that sounds great." 

Suddenly, Hank comes wandering through the door, turning his head back and forth before he spots you and Misty standing together.

"Hey guys, where've you been? Everyone is looking for you." You exchange a glance with Misty as you quickly separate from one another. 

"What do you mean?" the words venture nervously from your lips.  _Could Madison have already...?_

"You've just both been gone for a while. Are you ok?" His dark puppy eyes shift pointedly towards you, and you feel a small burst of comfort and unexpected gratitude. You're glad that you decided Hank taking you to prom wasn't a horrible idea. Things... kind of worked out. Or, they will, hopefully. 

"Oh, yeah, we're fine." 

"Alright, well, hey, we're all headed to Peter's place by the water. Figured we'd all head home, change, and go. Are you coming?" He looks between the two of you and is definitely oblivious.

"I'm exhausted, actually, would you mind just dropping me at home?" 

"Yeah, totally. Peter said you were coming, Misty?"

"I don't think so, Hank. I mean, I was, but I'm pretty tired, myself. I think I'll just have him bring me home, too." 

"Aw, you guys, it's gonna be a blast though!"  _It's sweet_ , you think,  _that Hank actually kind of cares_. 

"I bet, but my mama wouldn't want me out and gone that long, anyway. I know y'all are planning on spendin' the whole weekend there." 

"Alright, well, Cordelia, I'll meet you back at the car?"

"Sounds good." And, with that, Hank vanishes back inside the building. "Ok, so Madison hasn't quite run her mouth yet." 

"Oh, Delia. I'm nervous. Madison can be just fine, most of the time, but when that girl's got a bone to pick..."

"Is it because of me?"

"I mean... I guess, kind of."

"I understand, I mean, I know I'm still that weird, nerdy girl to most of the school and --"

"No!" Misty's palms are warm against your face and you feel your heart quell. "No, that's not it. Well, I mean, that's _Madison's_ thing, but that's now... I -- Look, we'll talk soon, ok? Let's go get changed and I'll meet you and Nan at the garden entrance in half an hour. Ok?"

"Ok. We'll see you in a bit." 

"I promise I'll explain." she presses the briefest of kisses against the corner of your mouth before hurrying quickly inside. You try to keep your hope to a minimum because life has only taught you disappointment. This girl is going to be your end, but maybe, just maybe, it'll all work itself out? 


End file.
